x  y 


THE    INVOLUNTARY 

CHAPERON 


BY 
MARGARET  CAMERON 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 
HARPER  &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

M  C  M  I  X 


BOOKS  BY 
MARGARET   CAMERON 

THE  INVOLUNTARY  CHAPERON  .  111.  Post  8vo  $1.50 
THE  CAT  AND  THE  CANARY  .  .  .  111.  Post  8vo  i.oo 
THE  BACHELOR  AND  THE  BABY  .  111.  i6mo  .50 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1909,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


All  rightt  reserved. 

Published  October,  1909. 


TO 
H.  C.  L. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

BARE-FOOTED    MARKET-WOMEN .  Facing  p.    18 

GUAYAQUIL    SPREAD    ALONG    THE    RIVER    AND    HILLS     .  "  46 

CARVED    BALCONIES    OF    SOLID    MAHOGANY       .       .       .       .  "  72 

A    PARK    WITH    FINE    TREES    AND    FLOWERING    SHRUBS  "  86 

THE    CATHEDRAL    WHERE    PIZARRO    LIES "  96 

A    GIBRALTAR-LIKE    PROMONTORY    CALLED    MORRO          .  "  122 

SANTIAGO    AND    THE    ANDES "  156 

THE    STATELY    AND    BEAUTIFUL    ALAMEDA         ....  "  168 

DARK    BASES    RISING    FROM    THIN    VALLEYS      ....  "  198 

THE    SNOWY    MOUNTAINS   AND   TREMENDOUS   GLACIERS  "  228 
MONTEVIDEO,         DELIGHTFULLY         SITUATED         ON         A 

PENINSULA "  244 

THE    CATHEDRAL    IN    BUENOS    AIRES "  254 

PLAZA    AND    SPLENDID    AVENIDA    DE    MAYO      ....  "  268 

OH,    THE    BAMBOO    OF    THIS    COUNTRY! "  288 

THE  GRAY   CORCOVADO  TOWERING  ABOVE  THE   CITY       .  "  310 

THE    ROSY,    LICHEN-COVERED    AQUEDUCT           ....  "  330 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 


THE 
INVOLUNTARY     CHAPERON 


On  Board  S.  S.  Prim  Otto, 
February 


Marion  dear,  am  I  somebody  else?  Or  have  I 
merely  reincarnated  rather  unexpectedly  —  in  which 
case,  am  I  still  myself?  Or  am  I  plain  crazy?  Of 
course,  there  is  always  the  other  possibility,  which  I 
refuse  to  discuss,  that  I  am  a  fool. 

I  seem  to  be  on  a  sizable  sort  of  a  steamer,  headed 
for  the  Narrows  and  the  open  sea  beyond.  A  Ger 
man  band  cheerfully  discourses  most  excellent  music 
on  deck,  while  around  me,  at  every  desk  in  the  writ 
ing-room,  I  behold  people  frantically  scribbling 
against  time  and  the  impending  departure  of  the 
pilot.  I  have  a  confused  recollection  of  four  breath 
less  days  of  shopping  and  of  four  sleepless  nights  of 
planning  and  packing,  when  I  babbled  importantly 
of  Panama  and  Peru,  Santiago,  Buenos  Aires  and 
Rio,  ports  of  the  Never-Never  Land  whither  I  still 
seem  to  be  bound.  But,  of  course,  I  may  wake  up 
any  minute  and  find  myself  in  a  boarding-house 
bed  somewhere,  wondering  what  life  holds  for  an 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

unattached  and  impecunious  widow,  whose  talents, 
such  as  they  are,  are  of  the  domestic  and  social 
order,  whose  tastes  are  expensive,  and  who  is  still 
too  hopelessly  sentimental  to  marry  for  revenue  only. 

But  if  I  be  I,  as  I  think  I  be,  I  have  a  little  chum 
at  home,  and  she'll  know  me.  Lend  me  your  ear, 
then — and  when  you  get  it  back,  I  hope  you  won't 
think  I've  gone  stark,  staring  mad,  for,  faith,  I  don't 
know  whether  I  have  or  not!  It  happened  in  this 
wise,  to  wit: 

Berenice  Ames — Helen's  daughter,  you  know — 
started  the  avalanche  by  declaring  herself  deeply, 
darkly,  desperately  in  love  with  an  ineligible,  two  or 
three  years  her  senior,  named  Perry  Waite,  though 
why  he  is  ineligible  is  another  story,  and  one  that 
impresses  the  Ames  family  much  more  than  it  does 
me.  However,  suffice  it  to  say  here  that  the  Ameses, 
root  and  branch,  are  more  than  impressed — they  are 
utterly  confounded.  They  have  tush-tushed  and 
pooh-poohed  in  vain.  In  vain  they  have  argued 
and  cajoled  and  threatened  and  wept  and  prayed, 
individually  and  collectively.  Apparently  Berenice, 
who  is  the  only  girl  in  the  whole  family  connection, 
has  in  her  some  of  the  determination  that  charac 
terized  that  very  unpleasant  old  party,  her  maternal 
grandmother,  and  since  never  before  in  her  seventeen 
luxurious  years  have  her  doting  parents  denied  her 
any  bauble  she  happened  to  fancy,  she  naturally 
sees  in  their  opposition  to  her  immediate  marriage 
to  this  undesirable  young  man  simply  tyranny  and 
oppression,  to  which  she  nobly  refuses  to  submit. 
She  said  as  much,  in  florid  phrases,  and  ended  by 


^riE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

reminding  them  that  her  days  of  dependence  were 
numbered,  and  that  she  should  soon  be  free  to  invest 
her  inheritance  in  peanuts  and  popcorn  and  pink 
lemonade  if  she  so  desired.  She  didn't  express  it 
just  that  way,  but  that — in  effect — is  the  interpre 
tation  that  the  family  puts  on  her  manifesto. 

And  unfortunately,  there  she  has  them  on  the 
hip.  You  may  remember  that  Helen's  mother  never 
forgave  her  for  marrying  Dick  Ames — how  history 
does  repeat  itself! — and  cut  her  out  of  her  will.  But 
when  the  old  dame  died,  it  was  found  that  she  had 
left  her  entire  personal  fortune,  which  was  large, 
to  Berenice,  to  be  turned  over  to  her  unconditionally 
when  she  should  be  legally  of  age.  And  Berenice  will 
be  eighteen  in  June.  Why  under  heaven  any  hu 
man  being  ever  made  such  a  will  I  can't  imagine, 
but  it  looks  now  as  if  old  Mrs.  Vance  had  exercised 
a  malignant  and  devilish  ingenuity  in  finding  a  way 
of  still  troubling  Dick  and  Helen  when  she  herself 
had  turned  to  clay. 

So,  as  I  say,  Berenice,  who  is  no  fool,  had  them 
there  and  knew  it.  Her  financial  independence  re 
moved  the  only  actual  hold  they  had  on  her  when 
moral  suasion  failed.  Nevertheless,  for  once  she 
found  them  adamant.  They  were  frightened,  but 
not  defeated.  They  decided  that  she  must  be  sent 
away  immediately,  hoping  that  absence  and  the  dis 
tractions  of  travel  would  weaken  the  spell  this 
amorous  youth  has  cast  over  her,  but  here  again 
were  difficulties.  Helen,  who  naturally  should  be 
the  one  to  watch  over  her  daughter,  felt  that  she 
simply  could  not  leave  Dick  just  now.  He  is  on 

3 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

the  verge  of  nervous  prostration,  terribly  worried 
over  the  business  situation,  and  more  than  ever  de 
pendent  on  his  wife.  Other  members  of  the  family 
were  ill  or  incapacitated  in  one  way  and  another, 
and  yet  it  was  essential  that  somebody  in  authority 
should  keep  a  vigilant  eye  on  the  young  woman, 
lest  she  carry  out  her  threat  and  run  away  to  her 
penniless  lad.  Of  course,  having  eloped  themselves, 
Helen  and  Dick  are  frozen  with  horror  at  the  mere 
thought  of  such  a  thing,  and  there  they  were,  when — 

Enter  Uncle  Beverley  Ames,  Dick's  elder  brother, 
with  a  ticket  for  South  America  in  his  hand.  Some 
thing  had  happened  somewhere,  and  he  had  to  go 
down  to  the  end  of  the  world  at  once. 

"The  very  thing!"  chorused  the  family.  "You 
shall  take  Berenice  with  you!" 

Apparently  Uncle  Beverley  was  not,  at  first,  deep 
ly  enamoured  of  the  job,  but  it  was  represented  to 
him  as  a  duty  he  owed  to  himself  and  his  family, 
and  eventually  he  succumbed,  provided — and  here, 
at  last,  is  where  I  come  in — provided  a  suitable 
chaperon  could  be  found  to  accompany  them. 
Otherwise,  he  flatly  refused  to  consider  the  prop 
osition  for  a  moment,  for  it  seems  that  in  those 
Latinized  communities  to  which  we  go,  it  wouldn't 
do  at  all  for  a  young  girl  to  travel  alone  with  him, 
were  he  twice  her  uncle  and  thrice  her  age,  which  he 
is  not — quite.  It  would  be  a  scandal,  in  short. 

Then  "there  was  racing  and  chasing  on  Cannobie 
lee"  to  find  some  foot-loose,  fancy-free  matron  of 
mature  years  and  dignified  aspect,  who  would  be 
willing  to  ramble  for  six  months  in  parts  unknown 

4 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

with  a  rebellious  princess  and  a  bachelor  dragon. 
Have  I  mentioned  that  Uncle  Beverley  is  a  bachelor  ? 
Well,  he  is — very  much  so. 

At  that  moment  in  dropped  my  letter,  warning 
Helen  that  I  had  tired  of  California  and  was  again 
on  my  way  east.  I  had  expected  to  spend  only  a 
week  in  New  York  and  then  go  on  to  Washington 
for  the  remainder  of  the  season,  as  you  know,  but 
Helen  met  me  at  the  station  with  quite  another  set 
of  plans  all  completed. 

It  was  of  no  avail  that  I  protested  that  I  didn't 
know  Berenice  very  well — although  as  a  child  I  doted 
upon  her;  that  I  didn't  know  Mr.  Beverley  Ames 
at  all;  that — what  was  more  to  the  point — neither 
of  them  knew  me;  that  the  responsibility  was  too 
great;  that  I  had  other  plans.  My  objections  were 
dissipated  like  ice  in  midsummer.  Helen  said  that 
nothing  could  be  more  suitable — more  providential, 
in  fact.  I  was  a  lifelong  friend  of  hers  and  of 
Dick's;  Berenice  had  always  "adored"  me;  Uncle 
Beverley  had  expressed  himself  as  enchanted  with 
the  idea — I  have  since  decided  that  reconciled  would 
more  nearly  express  his  attitude  in  the  matter;  and 
that,  as  a  clincher,  passage  was  already  taken  for 
the  three  of  us. 

I  held  out,  however,  until  Helen  cried  a  little  and 
said  I  was  the  forlorn  hope.  If  I  failed  them — ! 
And  if  I  had  ever  had  a  daughter  I  would  under 
stand.  Oh,  well,  I  never  did  have  a  daughter,  but 
it  does  not  necessarily  follow  that  I  am  therefore 
utterly  devoid  of  sympathy  or  understanding.  I 
had  no  home,  no  ties,  no  occupation  to  bind  me. 

5 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

I  had  been  going  about  crying  in  the  wilderness  for 
something  to  do,  for  somebody  who  needed  me — 
and  here  were  both,  ready  to  my  hand. 

So  I  said  I'd  go — and  here  I  am.  It  is  understood, 
however,  that  my  sole  office  is  to  play  propriety. 
Uncle  Beverley  is  responsible  for  Berenice. 

I  haven't  had  time  to  write  a  line  before,  because, 
as  I  had  only  four  days  for  preparation,  it  has  been 
a  mad  whirl.  Fortunately,  my  wardrobe  was  in 
unusually  good  condition,  but  still  I  had  to  have 
a  lot  of  things,  as  we  shall  encounter  every  grada 
tion  from  this  February  cold  to  tropic  heat.  And 
as  Uncle  Beverley  carries  letters  to  all  sorts  of 
powers  and  potentates,  we  must  be  prepared  with 
raiment  for  all  occasions  as  well  as  for  all  weathers. 

I  don't  think,  by  the  way,  that  Uncle  Beverley 
wholly  approves  of  me.  I  suspect  he'd  like  me 
better  for  this  business  if  I  wore  false  teeth  and 
a  last  year's  gown,  and  if  I  were  sixty  instead  of 
thirty-six.  However,  I  think  I  can  convince  him 
of  my  fitness  for  the  r61e  fate  has  thrust  upon  me. 
Certainly  there  will  be  no  temptation  to  break  over 
in  his  direction! 

Berenice  accepts  me,  as  she  does  all  the  rest,  rather 
sulkily,  and  without  comment  or  apparent  interest. 

And  I?  Is  this  little  Anne,  do  you  think?  As 
we  came  down  North  River  in  the  rain,  somebody 
began  looking  for  the  last  incredible  skyscraper.  We 
looked  and  we  looked,  but  it  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

"Well,  it  was  certainly  there — right  there — yes 
terday!"  exclaimed  a  man  beside  me,  pointing  to 
the  place  it  ought  to  be. 

6 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Just  then  it  poked  its  head  up  over  some  drifting 
clouds,  peered  at  us  for  a  moment,  and  retired  again 
behind  its  curtains.  A  lot  of  people  thought  that 
very  wonderful,  but  it  left  me  unstirred.  Why 
shouldn't  the  top  of  a  building  go  out  of  sight  in  the 
clouds?  Why  shouldn't  communication  be  estab 
lished  with  Mars?  Why  shouldn't  somebody  ex 
plore  the  moon  in  a  flying-machine  or  dig  a  tunnel 
to  the  North  Pole?  None  of  these  things  would 
be  any  more  remarkable  to  me  than  that  I — Anne 
Blake  Pomeroy — should  be  at  this  moment  on  my 
way  to  encircle  the  continent  of  South  America. 

How  much  do  you  know  about  South  America, 
my  dear? 

The  steward  warns  me  that  I  must  finish  at  once 
if  I  want  to  catch  the  pilot.  Good-bye,  dear  old 
girl.  Do  write  me  that  you  don't  think  I'm  losing 
my  mind.  I'll  keep  you  posted  by  every  mail  as 
to  how  this  crazy  adventure  progresses.  Of  course, 
all  this  is  confidential.  Ostensibly  we  are  on  a 
"pleasure  exertion." 

P.S. — I'd  give  something  to  see  your  face  when 
you  read  this! 

At  Sea,  February  I'jth. 

If  I  only  had  you  to  talk  to,  I  should  be  quite 
happy,  though  perhaps,  for  your  own  sake,  it  is  as 
well  that  you  are  not  here,  because  you'd  be  so  sea 
sick,  poor  dear! 

Yesterday  morning  I  ordered  tea  as  a  precaution- 

7 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

ary  measure  before  we  were  up,  and  rather  an 
attractive  young  stewardess  came  in,  with  her  pro 
fessionally  cheerful  air  and  her  tempting  inflection. 

"A  leedle  tea?    A  leedle  toast?" 

An  hour  later  she  came  again,  and  upon  finding 
us  dressed,  exclaimed:  "O-oh!  You  get  oop? 
Das  ist  gut!  You  go  oop  for  a  leedle  air?"  She 
didn't  half  credit  my  assurance  that  we  were  quite 
comfortable,  for  "all,  all  my  ladies  is  sick." 

It  was  even  rougher  last  night,  but  beyond  oc 
casionally  waking  to  the  consciousness  that  I  was 
standing  on  my  head  at  intervals,  it  didn't  disturb 
me  at  all. 

This  morning  there  are  a  few  more  people  on  deck 
than  appeared  yesterday,  but  they  are  lying  about 
in  chairs,  looking  limp  and  gaspy,  and  muffled  in 
rugs.  Of  course,  as  usual,  nearly  all  the  rugs  are 
green,  the  one  color  of  all  others  most  perfectly 
adapted  to  bring  out  every  subtle  shade  of  a  sea 
sick  complexion.  Mine  are  green,  too,  but  I  carry 
them  proudly,  as  men  wear  the  red  ribbon  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor.  I've  earned  the  right  in  stormy 
seas,  which  for  lo!  these  many  years  have  not  turned 
me  green.  Nevertheless,  I'm  not  keen  on  ocean 
travel.  I'm  willing  to  take  a  ship  for  the  sake  of 
getting  somewhere,  but  I  shed  no  tears  when  I 
leave  it. 

Uncle  Beverley  didn't  come  to  dinner  last  night, 
and  departed  rather  hastily  from  the  breakfast- 
table  this  morning,  so  I  fear  me  he  is  not  entirely 
comfy,  but  Berenice  preserves  the  demeanor  of  a 
Viking's  daughter — only  she's  too  dark  for  the  part. 

8 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

She  is  really  a  beautiful  creature,  tall  and  slim  and 
vivid — lithe,  I  think,  is  the  word  for  her — but  at 
present  she  is  consumed  with  a  melancholy.  She 
will  neither  walk  nor  talk  nor  read.  She  sits  hour 
after  hour  staring  out  across  the  gray  tumble  of 
waters,  her  eyes  sombre  and  her  red  lips  mournfully 
drooped  at  the  corners. 

Poor  kiddie!  I  had  troubles  of  my  own  when  I 
was  her  age,  and  I've  not  forgotten  the  taste  of 
them.  I'd  like  to  make  her  talk  a  little  of  hers,  but 
evidently  she  regards  me  as  in  league  with  the 
enemy  and  will  none  of  me.  She  is  perfectly  courte 
ous — indeed,  she  is  charmingly  attentive  in  many 
little  well-bred,  conventional  ways,  but  utterly  re 
mote.  However,  the  time  will  come  when  she  must 
have  a  safety-valve,  and  then  I'll  be  at  hand.  At 
present  I  am  trying  to  be  as  unobtrusive  as  pos 
sible.  Just  think  how  that  passionate,  baffled 
young  thing  must  hate  me!  She  can't  even  get 
away  from  me  at  night,  for  we  share  the  same 
stateroom. 

Uncle  Beverley,  when  he  does  appear,  is  also  re 
mote — from  me,  at  least.  He  is  evidently  fond  of 
her,  and  is  really  rather  tactful  in  his  treatment  of 
her  now.  And  he  is  punctilious  in  his  attitude 
toward  me.  He  recognizes  his  obligations,  and  he 
is  going  to  discharge  them  manfully — but  oh, 
Marion,  how  I  do  bore  him! 

The  ship  is  very  full,  but  a  great  many  people 
will  leave  at  Kingston.  Of  the  remaining  fifty  or 
sixty,  only  five,  I  learn  from  the  passenger  list,  are 
going  on  down  the  map,  one  a  young  German  named 

9 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Leibnitz,  whom  I  have  seen  but  have  not  met,  and 
one  a  man  named  Blakeney,  as  yet  unidentified. 
Most  of  the  rest  are  taking  the  cruise,  and  will  re 
turn  to  New  York  with  the  ship.  Thus  far  I  have 
spoken  to  no  one  outside  our  own  small  party, 
except  two  Boston  men  who  sit  at  our  table.  One 
of  them  is  round  and  rosy  and  apparently  open- 
minded,  and  the  other  is  a  Bostonian  first  and  a 
human  being  afterward.  They  promise  to  be 
rather  good  fun.  The  other  seats  at  the  table  have 
been  vacant. 

Most  of  the  people  who  didn't  harmonize  with 
their  rugs  have  disappeared  again.  Uncle  Beverley 
hasn't  presented  himself  since  breakfast.  A  fine 
salt  spray  sprinkles  my  page  as  I  write,  and  a  shower 
is  sweeping  toward  us  on  a  chill  wind.  I  go  below 
for  a  nap. 

i8ih. — After  tea,  and  here  I  am  in  pongee!  Yes 
terday  was  gray  and  chilly  and  squally,  the  ship 
stumbled  through  a  lumpy  sea,  and  the  way  ahead 
looked  long.  To-day,  "the  blue,  blue  sky  above, 
the  blue,  blue  water  under,"  I'd  as  lief  go  on  sailing 
forever!  People  who  haven't  appeared  at  all  before 
have  bobbed  up  smiling  this  afternoon,  and  from 
fragments  overheard  here  and  there  I  fancy  there 
will  be  dressing  for  dinner.  Thus  far  nobody  has 
cared  in  the  least  how  they  looked. 

I  have  just  learned  that  we  can  send  letters  back 
from  Fortune  Island  to-morrow,  so  I'll  mail  this 
there  and  write  again  from  Kingston. 

My  child,  do  you  know  where  Fortune  Island  is? 

10 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Did  you  ever  hear  tell  of  such  a  place  ?  I  will  con 
fess  to  you — and  to  you  alone — that  I  spent  an 
hour  this  afternoon,  when  all  my  neighbors  were 
asleep,  studying  a  pocket  atlas  that  I  took  time  to 
buy  before  sailing.  Isn't  it  appalling  how  little 
most  of  us  know  about  our  own  hemisphere? 

One  night  in  New  York  I  dined  at  the  Fields' — 
travelled  people,  as  you  are  aware,  and  rather  re 
markable  for  their  general  information.  They 
wanted  to  know  all  about  this  wonderful  and  un 
usual  trip,  and  asked  where  our  first  long  stop 
would  be  made.  I  said  in  Lima.  A  furtive  sort  of 
look  found  its  way  around  the  table,  and  every 
body  said,  "Ah?"  and  "Oh!"  and  "How  very  in 
teresting!" — and  then  there  was  a  pause — a  blank, 
barren,  awful  sort  of  pause.  Finally  Bob  Field  took 
his  courage  in  his  teeth  and  plunged  in. 

"I  'fess  up!"  said  he.  "Where  is  Lima,  please? 
I  know  there  is  such  a  place — somewhere  on  the 
west  coast,  isn't  it? — but  I  don't  know  a  thing 
about  it."  And  I  couldn't  tell  him  much. 

I  think  we  were  all  a  little  ashamed.  I  know  I 
was,  and  I  went  home  wondering  what  gives  Ameri 
cans  such  an  eagerness  for  everything  across  either 
ocean,  and  such  a  scornful  indifference  for  the 
things  south  of  their  own  border.  Do  you  know? 


Kingston,  Jamaica,  February  2ist. 

Some  day  when  we  both   have   fifteen  cents  to 
spare  and  no  immediate  demands  upon  us — not 

ii 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

that  it  matters  to  anybody  what  I  do  or  when  I  do 
it  nowadays  —  let's  come  down  here  and  stay  a 
month  or  two.  You  have  doubtless  heard  of  the 
garden  spot  of  the  earth — yes?  Well,  this  is  it. 
All  others  are  imitations.  At  least,  that's  the  way 
I  feel  about  it  now.  Of  course,  this  may  be  simply 
a  better  imitation  than  the  rest,  and  the  real  thing 
still  ahead — it  shall  not  be  said  of  me  that  I  have 
not  an  open  mind! — but  this  is  surely  a  wonder 
land  to  the  children  of  the  North. 

Which  makes  the  awful  devastation  of  Kingston 
the  more  pitiful.  Unlike  San  Francisco,  she  has 
not  even  struggled  to  her  knees;  there  seems  no 
effort  to  regain  a  footing,  no  strength  left  to  fight 
with.  She  lies  prone  among  her  ruins,  almost  as 
the  terrible  earthquake  and  fire  left  her  a  year  ago, 
while  about  her  riots  this  incredible  wealth  of 
vegetation.  It  is  like  some  rare  and  wonderful 
setting  from  which  the  jewel  has  been  torn.  But 
I'm  getting  ahead  of  my  story. 

Fortune  Island  proved  to  be  a  long,  low  strip  of 
land  belonging  to  Great  Britain,  where  we  paused 
only  long  enough  to  put  off  our  mail  and  take  on 
a  crew  of  blacks,  who  came  out  to  us  in  a  barge. 
They  are  taken  from  here  to  handle  the  cargo, 
and  are  dropped  again  on  the  way  back. 

From  there  it  grew  warmer.  Officers  appeared 
in  snowy  ducks,  passengers  in  flannels  and  linens; 
awnings  were  stretched ;  electric  fans  began  to  hum ; 
and  the  chill  winds  off  Hatteras  seemed  very  far 
back  indeed.  How  can  it  be  so  cold  in  New  York 
when  three  days  away  is  the  very  breath  of  heaven ! 

12 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

The  "Captain's  dinner,"  the  night  before  we 
touched  Jamaica,  was  a  very  pretty  affair.  The 
dining-cabin  was  hung  with  green  garlands  and 
festoons  of  glowing  red  roses.  I  thought  them  very 
effective  and  said  so,  whereupon:  "They  are  nothing 
but  paper,  you  know,"  quoth  Uncle  Beverley. 
Marion,  I  thank  the  good  Lord  that  I  was  not  born 
with  a  passion  for  detail  and  the  whole  truth  at  all 
times ! 

There  were  also  the  flags  of  all  nations,  of  course, 
and  colored  lights,  and  snapping  bonbons  containing 
gay  paper  caps,  which  we  all  donned — except  Uncle 
Beverley.  There  was  a  long  and  excellent  dinner, 
at  the  end  of  which  "illuminated  ice-cream"  was 
served  by  stewards  in  fancy  dress,  Germania  and 
Uncle  Sam  leading  the  way. 

It  was  not  very  magnificent,  of  course,  but  it  was 
pretty.  Somebody  had  done  a  great  deal  of  work 
to  give  us  a  little  pleasure,  and  I  prepared  to  enter 
into  the  spirit  of  the  game  and  drag  Berenice  in  after 
me.  I  began  quite  buoyantly — and  I  don't  yet 
know  why  I  didn't  continue,  but  there  was  a  tone  in 
Uncle  Beverley's  voice  and  a  look  in  Uncle  Beverley's 
eye  that  reduced  me,  gradually,  to  pulp.  The 
Captain  made  a  speech,  and  we  all  sang  God  Save 
the  King — in  deference,  I  suppose,  to  the  allegiance 
of  Jamaica — and  I  retired  from  that  dinner  a  meeker 
and  a  madder  woman. 

We  found  the  decks  enclosed  with  bunting,  and 
prepared  for  dancing.  It  was  a  heavenly  night, 
and  there  was  a  moon.  The  women  were  all  in 
light  gowns,  the  men  in  evening  dress,  there  was  a 

13 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

good  band  playing  melting,  swaying,  swinging 
music — and  there  was  Uncle  Beverley!  He  asked 
Berenice  to  dance — he  dances  well,  too — and  brought 
up  one  or  two  young  men  whom  he  has  met  and 
approves  of.  Of  course,  these  youths  were  pre 
sented  to  me,  as  a  matter  of  form,  and  then  two- 
stepped  off  with  my  indifferent  ward,  who  danced 
because  she  was  told  to. 

She  is  in  that  mood  now.  If  we  tell  her  to  walk, 
she  walks;  if  we  tell  her  to  read,  she  reads.  If  we 
told  her  to  go  over  the  rail,  I  dare  say  she'd  do  it, 
with  that  same  bored,  lifeless,  martyred  air. 

Uncle  Beverley  also  asked  me  to  dance,  again  as 
a  matter  of  form,  and  in  a  perfectly  courteous  tone 
that  still  clearly  indicated  my  proper  course  in  the 
matter.  Well,  this  once  I  seen  my  duty  and  I  done 
it.  My  toes  were  tingling,  that  delectable  German 
band  was  playing  the  dear  old  Blm  Danube — was 
there  ever  another  such  waltz! — and  I  meekly  ac 
cepted  the  cap  and  knitting  that  man  was  forcing 
upon  me.  I  folded  my  hands  and  primly  replied 
that  I  was  not  dancing,  whereupon  he  expressed 
polite  regret,  uttered  a  few  mossy  commonplaces, 
and  escaped  to  the  smoking-room  and  his  game  of 
bridge. 

"Oh  yes,  I  wrote  The  Purple  Cow!  I'm  sorry 
now  I  wrote  it.  But  I  can  tell  you,  anyhow—  "  that 
if  Uncle  Beverley  supposes  I'm  going  to  be  a  Purple 
Cow,  just  because  he  has  prejudices  in  favor  of  that 
subdued  and  matronly  shade  in  bo  vines,  he  has 
shocks  and  counter-shocks  ahead  of  him.  I  won't, 
so  there!  I  see  no  reason — and  I've  been  giving 

14 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

the  matter  some  careful  thought  since  that  deck 
dance — I  see  no  reason  whatever  why  I  should  re 
linquish  all  my  few  remaining  attributes  of  youth 
simply  because  I  happen  to  be  chaperoning  a  spoiled 
child  who  should  have  had  her  hands  slapped  years 
ago. 

The  only  way  to  do  anything  with  that  girl  now 
is  to  reach  her  through  her  affections  and  through 
her  vanity.  It  might  flatter  her  to  be  made  the 
friend  and  confidante  of  a  woman  who  has  lived  and 
suffered,  and  who  still  believes  in  love  and  laughter. 
But  how  am  I  going  to  get  the  least  hold  on  her  as 
long  as  she  regards  me  as  an  elderly  kill- joy,  a  brake 
on  her  wheel  of  life,  a  monstrosity  sans  sympathy 
or  understanding,  dragged  in  from  the  outer  world 
to  help  smother  romance — in  short,  as  Uncle 
Beverley's  Purple  Cow? 

Therefore — and  for  other  reasons — I'm  going  to 
stay  myself,  and  to  do  that  peaceably  I'll  have  to 
educate  Uncle  Beverley  a  little.  It's  rather  a  large 
order,  because,  as  you  may  have  inferred,  my  heart 
doesn't  exactly  go  out  to  Uncle  Beverley,  as  it  were. 
But,  still,  there's  Berenice — and  back  of  her,  Helen. 
What  a  funny,  criss-crossed,  knotted  web  life  is, 
anyway ! 

The  morning  after  the  dance  we  entered  the  tiny 
harbor  of  Port  Antonio,  and  the  whole  scene  looked 
like  a  fine  but  overcolored  lithograph.  The  water 
was  bluer,  the  surf  whiter,  the  hills  greener  than  any 
of  these  things  ever  really  are.  There  wras  a  too- 
white  lighthouse  on  one  point  and  a  too-gray 
barracks  on  the  other.  A  little  red-roofed  town 

15 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

nestled  amid  lush  foliage,  and  behind  it  all  rose 
fantastic,  volcanic-looking  mountains. 

A  lot  of  people  left  the  ship  here,  to  spend  the  day 
at  Port  Antonio,  and  cross  the  island  by  rail  or 
automobile,  rejoining  us  at  Kingston,  where  the 
ship  lies  two  days.  It  was  suggested  that  we  do 
this  too,  but  Uncle  Beverley  made  inquiries  and 
learned  that  we  should  have  to  arise  at  5  A.M.  in 
order  to  catch  the  train,  and  promptly  decided 
against  it,  because  "it  would  be  altogether  too  hard 
for  Mrs.  Pomeroy."  Evidently  the  old  lady  is  to 
be  coddled!  My  field  of  usefulness  seems  to  be  en 
larging,  but  this  was  "not  nominated  in  the  bond," 
and  Uncle  Beverley  will  be  instructed  that  he  must 
rescue  his  own  chestnuts  from  the  fire.  Think  of 
missing  a  journey  across  this  green,  fragrant,  orchid- 
grown  island  because  a  fusty  old  bachelor  loves  his 
morning  snooze!  If  he  were  worth  the  trouble 
I'd  undertake  to  get  him  up  at  five  o'clock  more 
than  once  before  we  have  finished  this  jaunt.  But 
what's  the  use?  He  wouldn't  know  what  it  was 
after  it  had  happened  to  him.  Not  that  I  mean 
to  imply  that  Uncle  Beverley  is  a  fool.  Far 
from  it! 

All  that  afternoon  we  skirted  the  shores  of  this 
big,  beautiful  island,  and  at  night,  about  sunset, 
wound  our  way  through  the  serpentine  channel  that 
leads  to  the  docks  of  Kingston. 

A  score  or  so  of  negro  boys  dropped  into  the  water 
as  we  approached  and  surrounded  the  ship,  clamor 
ing  for  coins.  They  looked  like  some  grotesque, 
English-speaking  amphibians,  as  much  at  home  in 

16 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

the  water  as  frogs  or  eels,  either  of  which  seem  more 
akin  to  them  than  humans. 

It  was  dark  when  we  finally  got  ashore  and  found 
ourselves  in  a  swirling,  drifting  crowd.  Another 
ship  of  the  same  line  from  Colon  had  just  docked, 
and  people  swarmed.  There  were  tall  black  dandies 
in  pure  white  from  the  crowns  of  their  Panama  hats 
to  the  tips  of  their  canvas-covered  toes;  market- 
women  in  red  aprons  and  gay  bandanna  turbans, 
selling  fruit  and  eggs;  venders  of  postal  cards; 
hurrying  German  stewards;  black,  loose-limbed 
boys  begging  a  bag  to  carry ;  solicitous  hotel  runners ; 
dapper  niggers,  confidently  assuring  one  that  "the 
buggy  is  just  here,  sir";  men  and  women  charac 
teristically  British  in  face,  dress  and  accent;  amused, 
bewildered  Americans  from  the  ship ;  loafers  watching 
the  crowd;  jostling,  jabbering  laborers,  home  from 
Colon  by  steerage — all  these  and  more,  eddying  in 
and  out  of  the  shadows.  And  through  it  all,  in 
tensifying  the  color,  softening  the  babel,  deepening 
the  mystery,  accenting  the  whole,  was  the  mellow, 
caressing,  delicious  sense  of  the  tropics. 

We  took  one  of  the  cabs  of  the  locality — called  a 
buggy,  but  really  a  sort  of  surrey — and  drove 
through  the  dark,  miraculously  threading  our  way 
among  hordes  of  people  carrying  burdens  of  every 
size  and  description,  and  gabbling  in  their  soft, 
exotic  English,  touched  now  and  then  with  Spanish ; 
off  the  docks  and  into  the  streets,  where  ghosts 
of  fallen  houses  stood,  rank  on  rank,  glowering  at 
us  in  the  moonlight;  through  the  desolated  city — 
here  one  of  the  innumerable  sweetmeat  venders, 

'7 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

whose  corner  stand  was  perhaps  propped  against  a 
dead  lamp-post  and  lighted  by  a  screened  candle  or 
smoking  oil  lamp — there  a  group  of  negroes  singing 
hymns  and  shrilly  bearing  testimony,  under  flaring 
torches,  to  the  faith  that  is  in  them  so  plentifully; 
out  a  fragrant,  silent  country  road,  and  so,  finally, 
to  this  hotel,  a  low,  wide-spreading  structure,  where 
we  found  ourselves  among  crowds  of  prosperous- 
looking  English  people  in  evening  dress,  and  were 
given  very  comfortable  rooms. 

This  morning  all  the  Britons  and  Britonesses,  so 
resplendent  last  night,  are  out  in  ill-fitting  flannels 
and  most  extraordinary  blouses  that  exude  little 
wisps  of  lace  here  and  there.  The  men  wear  either 
cork  helmets  or  Panama  hats  turned  up  in  front 
and  down  behind,  and  all  the  women  have  straw 
things  turned  down  all  the  way  around,  with  float 
ing  and  generally  unhemmed  tissue  veils — the  mark 
of  the  English  woman  the  world  over.  And  they 
all  talk  the  talk  of  the  British  colonist:  Shanghai, 
Simla,  Cape  Town,  Sidney,  Valparaiso,  Port  Stanley 
— all  in  the  day's  work.  Truly,  they  are  a  wonder 
ful  people! 

How  you  would  love  all  this!  We  went  down 
town  this  morning,  through  lines  of  market-women, 
turbaned,  double-cinctured,  bare -footed,  wearing 
bright  necklaces,  and  carrying  on  their  heads  beau 
tiful  shallow  baskets  of  fruit,  food,  or  drink,  or 
driving  quaint,  panniered  donkeys  to  market. 

Oh,  if  I  only  had  somebody  to  talk  to!  Berenice 
has  no  more  interest  in  these  things  than  she  has 
in  the  differential  calculus,  if  there  is  such  a  thing, 

18 


Copyright,  igoo,  by  Underwood  &  Underwood,  X.  V. 

BARE-FOOTED     MARKET-WOMEN 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

and  Uncle  Beverley  points  out  that  there  are  insects 
in  the  gardens,  that  the  grass  is  too  damp  to  walk 
through,  and  that  the  negroes  are  more  or  less 
soiled. 

Marion,  was  there  no  justification  for  that  grate 
ful  Pharisee? 

At  Sea,  February  23d. 

Here  we  are,  dear  girl,  slipping  along  through  the 
Caribbean  Sea  (do  you  fully  get  that?  The  Carib 
bean  Sea  never  was  convincing  to  me  when  we 
studied  "jography")  on  our  way  to  Colon,  the  canal 
and  Panama.  For  a  day  my  eyes  and  my  heart 
turned  wistfully  back  to  lovely  Jamaica,  but  now 
I  am  eager  for  to-morrow  and  the  Isthmus. 

Nothing  of  importance  has  happened,  though  our 
own  particular  storm-cloud  seems  to  be  lifting  a 
little.  Berenice  is  beginning  to  sit  up  and  display 
a  faint  interest  in  life — and  in  an  Englishman  who 
joined  the  ship  at  Kingston,  and  Uncle  Beverley 
has  had  one  or  two  moments  of  seeming  almost 
human.  There  has  been  nothing  in  either  case,  as 
yet,  to  indicate  a  permanent  improvement,  but  at 
least  the  symptoms  are  encouraging. 

We  spent  the  last  morning  in  Kingston  shopping 
a  little  and  driving  about  town  among  the  ruins, 
where  the  spectacle  of  women  clearing  away  bricks 
and  carrying  mortar  to  the  few  builders  filled  Uncle 
Beverley  with  platitudinous  distress.  I  thought 
the  great,  strapping  black  wenches  looked  far 
stronger  and  more  capable  than  many  a  man  I've 

19 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

seen  doing  similar  work  at  home — and  I  didn't 
observe  any  of  them  suffering  strain  through  excess 
of  energy!  Besides,  apparently  there  were  not  men 
enough  to  do  even  that  little  work. 

Of  course,  the  poor  defenceless  male  may  have 
been  driven  from  the  field  by  the  predatory  female 
work-snatcher,  as  we  are  fearfully  warned  will  soon 
be  the  case  with  us,  or — can  it  be  possible  that  he 
was  sitting  at  home  with  a  crooked  black  cigar  and 
a  bottle?  Perhaps  he  was  somewhere  on  the 
Isthmus,  helping  us  dig  the  canal,  but  certainly  he 
was  not  much  in  evidence  in  the  streets  of  Kingston 
— and  neither,  by  the  way,  were  the  babies. 

Since  I  have  never  heard  that  our  dark-skinned 
brethren  have  any  tendency  toward  race  suicide, 
it  occurs  to  me  that  it  might  be  well  for  New  York 
City  to  import,  for  its  own  improvement,  a  few  of 
these  dusky  tacticians,  who  apparently  know  how 
to  mass  their  infantry  somewhere  besides  under 
foot  in  the  highway. 

Owing  to  the  crowd  at  the  steamer,  we  had  to 
leave  our  "buggy"  and  walk  the  length  of  the  dock. 
One  of  the  ubiquitous  black  boys  relieved  Berenice 
and  me  of  our  bags,  and  when  another  attempted 
to  take  Uncle  Beverley's,  that  gentleman  said: 

"I'll  carry  my  own." 

"All  right,  Mister,"  cheerfully  returned  the  imp; 
"all  I  want  is  the  tip,  please." 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  scene  at  that  dock!  We 
were  taking  aboard  about  two  hundred  steerage 
passengers  for  Colon,  all  more  or  less  gayly  arrayed. 
Each  carried,  in  his  hands  and  on  his  head,  all  his 

20 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

luggage,  consisting  of  boxes,  bundles,  deck  chairs, 
wash-basins,  fruit,  food  (including,  in  several  in 
stances,  live  chickens),  and  occasionally  mattresses 
or  pillows.  Each  was  accompanied  by  from  one  to 
a  dozen  friends,  and  each  pushed  and  shoved  and 
struggled  to  be  the  next  one  up  the  gang,  while  the 
sun  blazed  and  everybody  steamed  and  seethed  and 
sweltered.  Occasionally  the  doctor,  who  stood 
midway  up  the  plank  examining  eyes,  rejected  some 
one,  and  then  there  was  turmoil  while  the  un 
fortunate  forced  his  way  back  against  the  gabbling, 
prismatic  tide.  Occasionally,  too,  a  vilgilant  of 
ficer  on  the  lower  deck  rushed  some  offender  to  the 
rail  and  flung  him  bodily  over  it,  landing  him 
sprawling  on  the  dock,  a  few  feet  below. 

The  crowd  was  constantly  augmented  by  new 
comers,  and  even  after  the  ladder  was  lifted  others 
came  panting  into  sight,  dragging  after  them  all 
their  various  impedimenta,  with  which  we  had  by 
now  grown  familiar.  They  were  taken  aboard 
somehow,  and  eventually,  about  an  hour  late,  we 
steamed  away  and  settled  down  to  the  monotony  of 
ship  life.  It's  anything  but  monotonous  on  the 
steerage  deck,  however.  The  people  are  as  thick 
as  ants,  and  spend  their  nights  as  well  as  their  days 
in  the  open  air. 

As  yesterday  was  Washington's  Birthday,  there 
was  another  gala  dinner,  with  special  menu  cards 
and  an  attractive  display  of  bunting  in  the  dining- 
cabin  and  on  deck.  A  bust  of  the  immortal  George 
was  suitably  draped,  and  ceremonies  began  by  every 
body  standing  while  the  band  played  The  Star- 

21 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Spangled  Banner.  Of  course,  we  were  expected  to 
sing,  and  equally,  of  course,  nobody  remembered 
the  lines.  Moreover,  the  sentimental  German  band 
played  the  air  con  expressione,  tempo  rubato,  as  the 
director  thought  the  melody  demanded,  regardless 
of  the  words — of  which  he  was  even  more  scandal 
ously  ignorant  than  the  rest  of  us — and  the  result 
was  disconcerting. 

Later,  the  Rev.  Eric  Wittlesey  was  called  upon  for 
a  speech.  Young  Blakeney,  who  sits  at  my  right, 
and  who,  I  am  glad  to  say,  is  going  down  the  west 
coast  with  us,  told  me  gravely — with  a  twinkle"  in 
his  eye — that  during  the  afternoon  the  men  in  the 
smoking-room  were  discussing  the  desirability  of  a 
patriotic  address  in  the  evening,  and  that  somebody 
asked  the  Rev.  Wittlesey,  who  is  not  old  and  is 
rather  good-looking,  whether  he  could  suggest  any 
body  who  would  undertake  the  task,  to  which  he 
modestly  responded  that  he  was  rather  accustomed 
to  public  speaking  himself — in  fact,  he  was  a  public 
speaker;  not  only  that,  he  was  a  minister;  in 
short,  to  be  quite  frank,  he  was  the  pastor  of  one  of 
the  leading  Chicago  churches,  and,  of  course,  a 
clergyman  in  a  large  city  must  be  ready.  "You've 
no  idea,"  he  said,  "how  often  such  a  man  is  called 
upon  to  talk  in  public." 

Well,  he  talked  in  public.  He  talked  exhaustively 
about  himself,  the  Pharaohs,  Agamemnon,  Caesar, 
Alexander  the  Great,  Frederick  the  Great,  and 
Peter  the  Great,  made  an  impassioned  *p^ea  f°r 
obedience  to  one's  parents,  and  alluded  briefly,  in 
passing,  to  the  aforesaid  Father  of  his  Country. 

22 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

At  the  close  of  this  masterly  effort  the  Captain  arose, 
and  in  his  funny  broken  English  said  it  was  "fery 
gind  of  der  Referend  Vittlesey  to  make  us  sooch  a 
nice  sbeech  und  oxblain  all  about  eferyding,"  where 
at  Mr.  Blakeney  and  I  tittered  gleefully,  much  to 
Uncle  Beverley's  horror.  I  thought  it  very  neat  of 
the  little  Captain,  and  wished  I  had  cultivated  his 
society  more  assiduously.  I  hadn't  suspected  he 
had  it  in  him. 

Then  we  all  made  another  bluff  at  singing  our 
national  anthem,  and  escaped  to  the  cool  decks — 
that  is,  we  all  bluffed  except  Berenice.  Fresh  from 
school,  she  knew  the  words,  and  for  the  first  time 
since  leaving  home  she  showed  a  little  interest  in 
something  outside  of  herself,  lifted  up  her  voice  and 
sang  like  a  glorious  young  angel. 

It  was  this  singing  of  hers  that  attracted  the 
Englishman,  Mr.  Gaveston,  who  promptly  sought 
out  Uncle  Beverley  and  solicited  an  introduction 
to  his  niece.  He  walks  and  talks  and  demeans 
himself  like  a  gentleman,  but  there  is  something 
about  him  that  I  distrust.  I  don't  know  what  it  is, 
but  my  antennae  warn  me  of  danger.  However, 
he  is  only  booked  to  Panama,  which  we  shall  leave 
in  a  day  or  two,  and  he  is  not  in  my  province  any 
way.  Uncle  Beverley  has  undertaken  to  play 
watchdog,  I  merely  to  pseserve  appearances.  And 
neither  of  us  would  check,  by  so  much  as  a  straw, 
this  returning  interest  in  people  and  things  on  the 
part  of  our  melancholy  charge. 

Uncle  Beverley  is  coming  on  a  little,  too.  Again 
there  was  dancing  on  deck,  again  he  danced  with 

23 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Berenice,  again  he  punctiliously  invited  me — and 
this  time  I  accepted.  It  was  a  blow  to  him,  but  he 
only  blinked  once.  We  waltzed,  and  I  will  say  for 
Uncle  Beverley  that  he  is  as  good  a  dancer  as  I 
ever  knew — and  that  is  really  saying  a  good  deal. 
Apparently  my  foot  hasn't  entirely  lost  its  cunning, 
either,  though  it  is  some  time  since  it  has  been 
practiced  much,  for  he  said  things — almost  en 
thusiastic  things — about  his  enjoyment  of  the  dance, 
and  later  returned  to  ask  for  a  second  one.  He 
wanted  it,  too,  but  I  was  coy.  My  ambition  doesn't 
vault  as  high  as  all  that,  and  even  if  it  did,  it's  a 
little  too  early  in  the  game  to  risk  a  fall.  I  think 
Uncle  Beverley 's  education  has  begun ,  however.  And  I 
also  think  that  he'll  ask  me  to  dance  again — someday. 

Apropos,  I  overheard  rather  an  amusing  scrap  of 
conversation  during  the  evening.  A  man  who  had 
been  dancing  with  Berenice,  asked  her: 

"Is  that  pretty  woman  next  you  your  sister?" 
She  turned  to  look  at  the  damsel  at  her  elbow — an 
angular  spinster  of  forty — and  he  added,  laughing: 
"No,  no,  not  that  one!  I  mean  the  lady  at  your 
table — the  young,  jolly  one  over  there  in  white." 
I  happened  to  be  standing  with  a  group  of  dowagers 
at  the  moment. 

Berenice  looked,  and  I  heard  the  wonder  in  her 
tone  as  she  replied: 

"Mrs.  Pomeroy?  Why,  she  isn't  young!  She's 
a  friend  of  my  mother's!  They  were  classmates." 
Oh,  youth!  Do  you  remember  how  old  and  staid 
and  done  with  life  your  mother  seemed  when  you 
were  seventeen? 

24 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

"Don't  you  think  she's  very  attractive?"  persisted 
the  man — a  tactful  individual,  as  you  perceive. 

"Why,  I  never  thought  about  it,"  honestly  said 
Berenice.  "You  don't  think  she's  pretty,  do  you?" 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  that  immortal  fool.  "She  has 
beautiful  hair,  and  such  nice  eyes — and  I  like  her 
mouth.  Won't  you  present  me?" 

Of  course  she  did  it,  doubtless  glad  to  be  rid  of 
so  eccentric  a  companion;  but  I  have  caught  her 
once  or  twice  since  regarding  me  with  more  interest 
than  she  has  hitherto  honored  me  by  displaying. 
She  is  evidently  puzzled  about  something,  but 
whether  she  is  trying  to  reconcile  the  man's  words 
to  my  decrepit  appearance,  or  my  blooming  charms 
to  my  advanced  age,  I  can't  quite  determine.  I 
suspect,  however,  that  she  thinks  the  man  is  a 
lunatic. 

There  sounds  the  bugle  for  divine  service,  it  being 
Sunday,  and  all  the  good  people  are  going  below  to 
hear  the  Reverend  Whittlesey  "oxblain  all  about 
eferyding"  again.  I  seem  to  be  the  only  exception, 
even  Berenice  having  yielded  to  the  suggestions  of 
her  Englishman,  who  goes,  he  frankly  admits,  be 
cause  it  is  "good  form."  Doubtless  it  is  "good 
form,"  but  I  have  a  prejudice  against  entering  places 
of  worship  unless  I  can  go  in  a  reverent  spirit,  and 
somehow  the  Reverend  Eric  does  not  fill  me  with 
aspiration.  He  inspires  in  me  a  profane  desire  to 
talk  back — flippantly. 

Uncle  Beverley,  be  it  said,  is  below,  napping,  and 
young  Blakeney  has  discreetly  disappeared.  He 
was  graduated  from  college  last  year,  and  is  now 

25 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

going  back  to  Chile,  where  he  was  born  and  where 
his  parents,  who  are  both  Americans,  own  a  large 
hacienda.  He  did  not  reveal  himself  for  several 
days,  being  somewhat  reserved  and  slow  of  speech. 
There's  nothing  slow  about  his  wits,  however,  and 
I  find  him  an  altogether  delightful  boy. 

This  will  be  mailed  at  Colon  to-morrow,  and  when 
I  write  again  I  shall  have  crossed  the  Isthmus  of 
Panama ! 

Ancon,  Canal  Zone,  February  25th. 

Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,  I  have  seen  the  Culebra 
Cut!  And  now  if  I  should  meet  some  one  who 
had  watched  the  pyramids  building,  or  walked  with 
Aristotle,  or  seen  Shelley  plain,  I  should  not  envy 
him,  for  I,  too,  have  "crossed  a  moor  writh  a  name 
of  its  own.  And  there  I  put  inside  my  breast  a 
moulted  feather — an  eagle's  feather!" 

I'm  so  proud  to  be  an  American,  with  even  my 
tiny,  tiny  share  in  this  canal!  It's  stupendous! 
However,  you  like  your  stories  connectedly  and  in 
order,  don't  you  ? 

We  docked  at  Colon,  then,  about  nine  yesterday 
morning,  landed  without  much  delay,  and  crossed 
the  Isthmus  on  a  special  train,  so  we  saw  little  of 
that  city  except,  as  we  entered  the  harbor,  the  much- 
pictured  point,  with  its  low  houses  and  beautiful 
cocoanut-palms . 

Of  course,  the  ride  across  the  Isthmus  was  fas 
cinating — miles  of  tropical  jungle  and  coils  of  cling 
ing,  blossoming,  deadly,  twining  things,  through 

26 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

which  it  seems  incredible  that  men  can  ever  fight 
their  way.  There  were  strange  flowers,  and  swamps 
full  of  water-lilies,  and  palms  of  many  varieties,  and 
occasionally  a  little  settlement  of  thin,  shell-like, 
clean-looking  houses  on  stilts,  their  verandas  en 
closed  in  wire  netting.  There  were  the  lines  of 
abandoned  French  machinery  that  we've  heard  so 
much  about,  covered  and  choked  with  vines,  and  as 
we  neared  this  end  and  the  jungle  growth  dis 
appeared,  evidences  of  more  recent  and  effective 
work. 

A  good  many  people  who  are  taking  the  cruise, 
and  whose  time  is  consequently  even  more  limited 
than  ours,  got  off  midway  to  see  the  big  cut,  Mr. 
Gaveston  among  them,  and  Berenice  was  apparently 
much  disappointed  that  I  decided  not  to  accept  his 
invitation  to  join  them  It  is  comforting  to  see  her 
display  a  normal  interest  in  anything  again,  but  I 
wish  it  took  some  other  direction,  since  it  now 
transpires  that  this  Mr.  Gaveston  is  going  on  down 
the  west  coast  with  us  to  Bolivia. 

He  professes  to  have  received  advices  here  that 
have  thus  changed  his  plans,  and  I  have  no  actual, 
tangible  reason  for  either  doubting  or  regretting  it. 
He  has  an  irreproachable  manner,  is  witty  and  en 
tertaining — rather  brilliant,  in  fact,  when  he  chooses 
to  exert  himself — has  lived  much  in  the  Orient,  and 
is  apparently  well  connected  in  England,  if  he  knows 
all  the  people  he  says  he  does,  and  again  I  have  no 
good  cause  for  doubt.  I  admit  that  I  see  no  reason 
why  he  should  not  know  them,  and  certainly  he 
does  not  drag  their  names  ostentatiously  into  his 

27 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

conversation.  Mr.  Ames  seems  to  enjoy  his  society, 
and  I  dare  say  I  should  find  him  agreeable  myself 
if  it  were  not  for  Berenice,  but — oh,  well,  it's  really 
none  of  my  business.  I  am  always  getting  into  hot 
water  through  meddling  with  other  people's  stew- 
pans,  and  as  I  have  mentioned  my  misgivings  in 
this  matter  to  Mr.  Ames  without  even  rippling  his 
serenity,  I  suppose  I  may  keep  hands  off  with  a  clear 
conscience.  Certainly,  I  have  no  desire  to  scald 
again  my  already  bescarred  fingers  —  but  just  the 
same,  I  don't  like  it. 

Last  night,  and  again  this  morning,  we  spent  more 
or  less  time  roaming  about  Panama,  a  city  of  narrow, 
crooked  streets,  which  shoot  off  at  unexpected 
tangents,  but  delightfully  clean,  well  paved,  and 
apparently  orderly  in  spite  of  its  cosmopolitan 
population.  There  are  two  or  three  interesting  old 
churches,  but  on  the  whole  there  seems  nothing 
about  the  place  to  arouse  especial  enthusiasm  ex 
cept  the  sanitary  work  of  our  people,  a  task  one 
must  come  here  to  appreciate. 

This  afternoon  we  took  a  train  to  Culebra,  whence 
we  walked  far  into  the  Cut.  We  might  have  had  a 
special  car  and  gone  through  on  the  construction 
tracks,  with  one  of  the  engineers  for  guide,  but  we  all 
preferred  to  walk. 

We  stood  on  banks  over  the  great  steam-shovels 
and  watched  them  eat  the  mountain.  Four  bites 
of  that  steel-toothed  maw,  four  belches  of  sand  and 
gravel,  and  the  train  moved  on  a  car  length,  while 
the  monster,  unpausing  and  forever  unappeased,  bit 
again.  We  counted  ten  levels  that  had  thus  been 

28 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

gnawed  down,  and  once,  when  we  looked  back,  the 
very  spot  upon  which  we  had  stood  a  moment 
before  had  been  swallowed.  I  shivered  a  little  at 
being  so  close  to  this  terrible  modern  energy  that 
devours  the  eternal  hills  as  if  they  were  grass  and 
changes  the  immemorial  course  of  rivers.  It  was 
like  witnessing  the  Creation! 

Looking  down  into  that  vast  artificial  valley, 
filled  with  gravel-trains,  drills,  steam-shovels  and 
swarming  men,  one  human  being  seems  a  very 
insignificant  atom  indeed,  and  one  man's  ambitions 
or  performance  a  matter  of  infinitesimal  import. 
For  the  moment,  one  feels  that  the  only  people  who 
really  count  in  the  world's  work  are  its  engineers. 
I  suppose  a  clearer  perspective  will  come  when  the 
Culebra  Cut  has  taken  its  place  among  other 
memories;  but  when  one  is  looking  into  it  and 
seeing  it  grow,  it  looms  large  enough  to  dwarf 
most  other  achievements,  and  national  pride  flares 
high. 

Even  Uncle  Beverley  ceased  to  utter  polite  plati 
tudes  and  displayed  an  enthusiasm  about  the  canal 
and  a  patriotic  fervor  that  surprised  me,  and  Ber 
enice  for  once  forgot  to  mourn  for  her  old  love  or 
lean  toward  a  new  one. 

I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  she  is  really  infatuat 
ed  with  this  Englishman,  or  dreams,  as  yet,  that  her 
heart  can  ever  enshrine  another  image  than  that  of 
her  first  love.  But  a  man  of  his  type  can  always 
fascinate  a  young  girl — and  sometimes  an  old  one — 
if  he  wishes,  and  maidenly  hearts  have  been  known 
to  rebound.  I  wonder  whether  he  has  discovered 

29 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

that  she  is  an  heiress  ?  At  any  rate,  we  are  evidently 
to  have  him  constantly  with  us  for  at  least  ten 
days  more. 

There  seems  a  curious  uncertainty  in  the  agent's 
mind  as  to  just  when  we  shall  reach  Callao,  though 
we  are  assured  that  the  steamer  is  a  new  and  palatial 
one  and  the  Captain  the  best  on  the  coast.  We 
shall  see  what  we  shall  see! 

Just  there  young  Blakeney  came  along  and  said 
that  there  was  a  report  that  we  should  have  to  go 
aboard  at  noon  to-morrow,  instead  of  at  night,  as 
we  had  anticipated.  I  went  with  him  to  find  Mr. 
Ames  and  Berenice,  and  Uncle  Beverley  departed  at 
once  to  investigate  this  rumor,  leaving  me  with  the 
young  people.  In  the  desultory  chat  that  followed, 
Mr.  Blakeney  chanced  to  mention  a  house-party  he 
had  once  attended  in  some  out-of-the-way  place, 
whereupon  Berenice  turned  toward  him  a  startled, 
glowing  face,  exclaiming: 

"You're  not  Bunny  Blakeney!" 

"Yes,  I  am,"  said  he,  obviously  surprised,  "but 
how  did  you  know  it?  My  name  is  Shatter. " 

She  flushed  and  looked  away  as  she  replied: 
"Oh,  I've  heard  of  you.  I  know  some  of  the 
people  who  were  with  you  up  there." 

Apparently  he  was  delighted,  for  he  cried:  "Do 
you?  Who?"  But  she  indifferently  replied:  "Oh 
— several,"  and  that  ended  it. 

Her  eyes  were  not  indifferent,  however.  They 
were  like  live  coals.  Her  cheeks  blazed,  her  lips 
were  set  in  a  straight  line,  and  she  was  evidently 
angry.  Now,  what  do  you  suppose  that  means? 

30 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Young  Blakeney,  naturally,  ceased  to  pursue  the 
subject,  and  soon  left  us. 

I  made  one  or  two  attempts  at  conversation  with 
out  eliciting  much  response,  so  I  finally  left  her 
out  there  alone,  where  she  still  sits  glooming.  Poor, 
solitary,  stormy  little  heart!  I  wish  she'd  let  me 
in!  Mr.  Gaveston  approached  her  a  moment  ago, 
but  apparently  encountered  briers,  for  the  interview 
was  brief,  not  to  say  abrupt,  and  he  emerged  red 
and  bewildered.  If  the  thing,  whatever  it  is,  has 
the  effect  of  baffling  his  advances,  I  shall  encourage 
the  Blakeney  boy  to  introduce  the  subject  frequently. 
But  I  wonder  what  it  means?  I'll  ask  Uncle  Bev- 
erley. 

His  education,  by-the-way,  is  coming  on.  My 
agility  in  scrambling  up  and  down  gravelly  banks, 
and  my  thorough  enjoyment  of  the  long,  hot,  dusty 
walk  this  afternoon,  have  evidently  removed  me  per 
manently  from  the  cap  -  and  -  knitting  class,  praise 
be!  He  told  me  on  the  train  coming  back  that  he 
had  never  before  known  any  one  who  "combined 
with  the  poise  and  mellow  charm  of  maturity  the 
very  essence  of  youth." 

Whew!  Down  in  black  and  white,  that  looks  as 
if  Uncle  Beverley  was  progressing  by  leaps  and 
bounds,  doesn't  it?  That's  always  the  danger  in 
lifting  things  out  of  their  context.  It  really  came 
along  quite  casually,  apropos  of  his  kindly  solicitude 
for  the  overworked  chaperon,  and  was  as  impersonal 
as  if  he  had  been  analyzing  a  book  or  a  painting — 
neither  of  which,  by-the-way,  would  he  think  worth 
the  trouble,  unless  they  had  to  do  with  the  Civil 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

War,  which  is  his  hobby,  and  in  which  I  am  labori 
ously  trying  to  resurrect  something  resembling  a 
burning  interest.  What  I  mean  to  imply  is  simply 
that  we  are  really  establishing  a  common  footing  of 
a  sort,  he  and  I,  even  though  its  area  is  so  limited 
that  the  briefest  lapse  from  eternal  vigilance  would 
result  in  a  header  through  space. 

Berenice  is  more  difficult.  Time  and  youth  and  a 
changed  environment  are  slowly  doing  their  work, 
and  she  is  daily  less  morbidly  absorbed  in  woe; 
but  while  she  is  perfectly  courteous,  I  have  not  been 
able  to  get  one  inch  nearer  to  her,  and  it  troubles  me. 
It  is  unnatural  for  a  girl  to  hold  out  so  long  against 
affection  and  interest  and  sympathy  when  she  must 
need  all  of  them.  I  wonder  whether  the  child  really 
dislikes  me?  Certainly  she  repels  every  advance, 
and  our  situation  is  so  peculiar  that  I  hesitate  to  risk 
making  it  more  difficult  by  any  attempt  to  take  her 
by  storm. 

I'm  a  prey  to  melancholy  myself  to-night,  and  my 
task  looks  too  big  for  me — perhaps  because  of  my 
futile  uneasiness  about  the  Gaveston  man,  perhaps 
because  of  an  emotional  fatigue  following  the  big 
experience  of  the  afternoon,  perhaps  because  I  know 
that  this  is  the  very  outer  edge  of  things — the  last 
touch  with  mine  own  people,  and  that  to-morrow 
we  shall  pass  beyond  the  reach  of  them. 

I'm  a  good  deal  of  a  coward,  Marion,  and  I'd  go 
back  to-night  if  I  could.  But  I  promised  Helen — 
and  there  must  be  some  way  to  reach  that  child  and 
make  her  understand  that  I  understand.  Never  be 
fore  have  I  felt  so  baffled  and  useless ! 

32 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Good-bye,  best  of  friends!  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
leaping  off  a  high  place  into  the  illimitable  dark, 
and  unlike  the  Irishman,  it's  not  the  stopping  I'm 
afraid  of,  but  the  long  terror  of  the  fall. 


At  Sea,  Bay  of  Panama,  February  28th. 

Well,  the  murder  is  out,  and  we  are  freshly  re 
minded  of  the  futility  of  attempting  to  escape  from 
the  associations  of  one's  past  by  any  flight  short 
of  suicide — and  nobody  knows  yet  how  efficacious 
that  may  be. 

Here  are  Mr.  Ames  and  I,  laboriously  towing 
Berenice  to  the  bottom  of  the  world  in  an  attempt 
to  remove  her  entirely  from  Perry  Waite's  sphere 
of  influence,  and  now  we  discover  that  the  Blakeney 
boy  is  his  cousin  and  his  closest  friend!  Yes,  my 
dear,  I  am  quite  aware  that  such  things  do  not 
happen  outside  of  works  of  fiction,  which  only  goes 
to  strengthen  my  immutable  conviction  that  none 
of  this  is  real  and  that  I  shall  presently  wake  up. 
But  the  dream  is  most  amazing  logical  and  se 
quential  ! 

I  had  a  bad  quarter  of  a  minute  when  it  looked  as 
if  my  nice  boy  might  be  an  emissary  of  the  dreaded 
and  tabooed  ineligible,  and  had  deliberately  forced 
himself  upon  us,  concealing  his  identity  until  we  got 
so  far  on  our  journey  that  we  could  not  possibly 
avoid  him  as  a  travelling  companion.  There  was 
likewise  a  sickening  possibility  that  Berenice  might 
be  a  party  to  the  arrangement. 

33 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

It  appears,  however,  that  Blakeney  has  been 
somewhere  in  the  West  since  his  graduation,  and 
that  she,  having  heard  of  him  only  as  "Bunny" 
Blakeney — his  college  nickname — did  not  connect 
this  calm  and  uncommunicative  traveller  with  her 
lover's  chum.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  have  found 
very  little  to  say  to  each  other,  these  two  young 
people,  which  heretofore  I  have  rather  regretted, 
but  perhaps  it's  just  as  well.  He  says  he  has  known 
more  or  less  —  rather  less,  apparently  —  about  a 
meteoric  love  affair  in  which  his  cousin  was  con 
cerned,  but  young  Waite's  letters  have  evidently 
been  few  and  masculinely  brief,  and  have  never 
contained  the  name  of  the  girl  in  the  case,  which 
would  seem  to  indicate  that  reserve  and  caution 
run  in  that  family — except  in  matters  of  the  heart. 
Waite  was  certainly  precipitate  enough  in  his 
wooing ! 

Called  unexpectedly  to  Chile  by  his  father's  ill 
ness  and  a  financial  crisis  there,  Blakeney  hurried 
through  New  York  at  a  time  when  his  cousin  was 
absent — and  there  you  are! 

Nor  is  it  probable  that  he  would  have  discovered 
our  connection  with  the  affair  if  Uncle  Beverley 
had  not  happened  along  at  a  moment  when  I  was 
making  tactfully  veiled  inquiries  into  the  personnel 
of  that  mysterious  house -party,  mere  mention  of 
which  had  apparently  thrown  Berenice  into  a  bot 
tomless  slough  of  despond.  Ever  since  that  episode 
at  Ancon  she  has  been  gloomy  and  savage,  and  even 
her  uncle  has  had  some  scratches  to  nurse  as  a 
result  of  having  approached  her  too  confidently, 

34 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

She  is  a  problem,  that  child!  In  addition  to  a  full 
share  of  her  maternal  grandmother's  inflexibility, 
she  has  apparently  inherited  all  the  Ames — well, 
let's  call  it  fixity  of  purpose.  That's  euphonious, 
and  may  be  stretched  to  fit  the  crime.  However, 
she  may  also  have  some  of  Helen's  sweetness  latent 
in  her,  if  I  can  only  coax  it  out. 

As  I  was  saying,  by  careful  manoeuvring  I  had 
brought  the  conversation  smoothly  around  to  that 
house-party,  and  just  as  Beverley  Ames  joined  us 
Mr.  Blakeney  concluded  his  enumeration  of  the  peo 
ple  present  with  Perry  Waite's  name. 

That  was  where  our  revered  Uncle  Beverley  set 
off  the  fireworks.  If  he  had  held  his  peace — well, 
then  I  suppose  the  boy  would  have  held  his,  as  he 
is  by  way  of  being  something  of  a  sphinx  anyway, 
and  we  might  have  continued  to  suspect  him — and 
perhaps  Berenice — of  things  that  are  not  nice.  Still, 
I  think  I  could  have  overcome  his  reticence  without 
exciting  his  suspicion.  As  it  was,  Uncle  Beverley 
demanded  an  explanation — and  immediately  there 
after  found  himself  constrained  to  make  one,  while 
the  courtly,  steady-eyed  Blakeney  boy  waited  for  it. 
I  do  love  a  thoroughbred!  But  if  his  cousin  Perry 
is  at  all  like  him,  Dick  and  Helen  are  making  the 
mistake  of  their  lives  in  not  turning  Berenice  over 
to  him  at  once.  If  anybody  could  conquer  her  and 
develop  the  best  in  her,  it  would  be  that  kind  of  a 
man — which  may  be  the  reason  she  is  so  determined 
to  marry  him.  Sometimes  young  instincts  point 
truer  than  elderly  reason.  I  must  learn  more  about 
this  Waite  boy. 

35 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Still,  after  all  our  explaining,  none  of  us  could 
quite  understand  why  this  encounter  should  affect 
Berenice  as  it  has.  To  be  sure,  she  doesn't  en 
courage  attention  from  any  of  us,  but  instead  of 
turning  to  Mr.  Blakeney  for  comprehension  and 
sympathy,  as  one  would  naturally  expect  under  the 
circumstances,  she  seems  positively  to  resent  his 
advent  upon  the  scene. 

For  the  rest,  nothing  very  interesting  has  hap 
pened.  The  vessel,  though  comfortable,  is  not  al 
together  as  resplendent  as  the  agent  implied.  For 
that  matter,  it  would  repay  one  travelling  this  way 
to  make  a  careful  study  of  the  things  Panamanian 
steamship  agents  do  not  know  about  their  business. 
However,  we  survived  being  posted  off  in  the  hot 
noontide  and  being  put  aboard  a  coal -dusty  ship 
which  lay  until  ten  the  next  morning  beside  a 
hot,  dirty,  noisy,  odoriferous  dock,  where  travelling 
cranes  loaded  cargo  until  nearly  midnight  and  began 
again  at  six  in  the  morning,  filling  the  breathless 
hours  with  din  unspeakable. 

When  we  discovered  that  there  was  not  on  the 
ship  one  single  deck-chair  or  a  yard  of  mosquito- 
netting — a  very  necessary  article  while  lying  off 
Guayaquil,  we  are  told — we  almost  succumbed, 
but  Mr.  Blakeney,  who  speaks  fluent  Spanish, 
promptly  offered  to  return  to  Panama  for  these  things, 
which  he  accordingly  did,  while  we  perched  about 
on  high,  dusty,  uncomfortable  benches  and  con 
templated  the  possibility  of  having  nothing  else  to 
sit  on  for  two  weeks  should  his  mission  fail.  So 
benumbed  were  we  by  heat,  dirt,  clangor,  and  con- 

36 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

fusion  that  the  activity  of  the  insects  crawling  over 
the  table  at  dinner  did  not  even  arouse  us  to  protest. 
We  took  some  soup — presumably  free  from  their 
presence — and  returned  to  the  hot  deck,  almost 
without  comment. 

Mr.  Blakeney  came  back  about  ten  o'clock  with 
two  chairs  and  a  laughing  tale  of  his  adventures  in 
getting  them  that  really  interested  me  for  a  few 
minutes.  He  had  great  difficulty  in  finding  a  shop 
where  such  things  were  kept,  and  when  he  finally 
discovered  one,  the  boy  in  charge  told  him  it  was 
too  late  to  "dispatch"  any  goods,  and  advised  him 
to  return  in  the  morning.  Unable  to  obtain  any 
further  satisfaction  from  the  fellow,  Mr.  Blakeney 
entered  the  shop,  and  by  the  light  of  his  own  matches 
finally  found  two  folding  chairs — no  more.  With 
this  treasure  under  his  arm,  he  again  sought  the 
youth  on  the  sidewalk,  who  could  not  tell  him  how 
much  he  should  pay.  Mr.  B.  said  he'd  better  find 
out,  as  he  should  certainly  take  the  chairs  away  with 
him.  At  that,  the  boy  consented  to  hunt  out  the 
proprietor,  who  said  the  price  of  the  chairs  was  six 
teen  dollars! 

"Ah?  I'll  give  you  eight,"  said  Mr.  Blakeney, 
paid  it,  and  walked  off — with  the  chairs!  There 
are  things  about  this  quiet  young  cousin  of  Perry 
Waite's  that  provide  food  for  rumination. 

He  also  brought  a  few  yards  of  mosquito-netting, 
which,  though  so  coarse  that  it  will  offer  little 
hindrance  to  any  really  industrious  mosquito,  was 
all  he  could  find. 

To-day  things  look  more  hopeful.  The  sea  is 

37 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

smooth,  but  it  has  not  the  deeply  beautiful  blue 
of  West  Indian  waters.  The  ship  is  being  cleaned 
up,  and  our  staterooms,  though  not  large,  are  cool 
and  airy,  being  on  the  very  topmost  deck — what 
on  a  transatlantic  ship  would  be  the  boat-deck — 
and  very  near  the  Captain's  quarters. 

He,  by  the  way,  seems  to  be  all  the  agent  painted 
him  and  more.  He  speaks  four  or  five  languages, 
is  conversant  with  the  art,  literature  and  politics 
of  all  the  Occidental  world,  at  least — I  haven't 
sounded  him  on  the  Orient — and  yet  has  about  him 
a  fine,  deep  simplicity  and  directness,  both  of  thought 
and  of  speech,  that  I  greatly  like.  Sometimes  he 
sits  on  a  rail  and  wiggles  his  feet,  but  one  would 
never  for  an  instant  suppose  that  one  could  there 
fore  slap  him  on  the  back  and  take  liberties  with 
him.  Altogether,  the  Captain  is  promising,  but  not 
at  all  the  kind  of  man  one  would  naturally  expect 
to  find  commanding  a  South  American  coaster. 

Last  night  we  saw  the  Southern  Cross  for  the 
first  time.  Years  ago  a  shiftless,  irresponsible  girl, 
whom  I  had  vainly  endeavored  to  interest  in  self- 
supporting  labor,  turned  up  one  day  in  soiled  and 
bedraggled  raiment  that  had  nevertheless  once  been 

gay. 

"Why,  Katie!"  said  I.  "You  must  have  come 
into  money!" 

"  Oh,  I  got  married.  Didn't  you  know  that,  Miss 
Anne?  Oh  yes,"  with  a  sigh,  "I  been  married  four 
months  now."  Then,  after  an  appreciable  pause, 
"Tain't  much!" 

Well,  last  night  I  saw  the  Southern  Cross. 

38 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

The  Big  Dipper  looked  strange,  in  a  queer  position 
and  so  far  away,  and  the  little  North  Star  was  low 
on  the  horizon.  Somewhere  off  to  the  west  our  bat 
tle  fleet  is  taking  its  northward  way  to  Magdalena 
Bay.  All  day  I  have  been  vainly  straining  my  eyes 
for  even  one  faint  hint  of  its  smoke! 

March  ist. — This  afternoon  we  have  been  steam 
ing  up  a  splendid  river,  as  wide  and  majestic  as 
the  Hudson,  with  dense  tropical  growth  on  either 
side  for  several  miles,  and  then  exquisite,  velvety 
meadows,  full  of  wide-spreading  trees.  Now  we 
are  anchored  about  two  miles  below  Guayaquil, 
where  we  shall  probably  lie  for  two  or  three  days. 
We  cannot  go  ashore,  however,  as  the  city  is  scourged 
by  a  plague. 

They  say  it  is  going  to  be  fearfully  hot  here,  but 
as  yet  nothing  has  been  as  hot  or  as  hard  as  I  ex 
pected,  so  I  am  not  cast  down.  Besides,  we  have 
mosquito  -  netting  and  deck-chairs,  which  is  more 
than  any  one  else  has  except  Mr.  Gaveston,  who 
travels,  of  course,  with  his  chair  and  his  tub. 

Apparently  Berenice  has  wearied  of  him,  for  she 
no  longer  notices  him  except  in  the  most  perfunctory 
way.  Mr.  Ames,  who  spends  much  time  with  him 
and  is  not  above  saying  "  I  told  you  so,"  reminds  me 
several  times  daily  that  he  knew  all  the  time  there 
was  no  occasion  for  alarm.  Perhaps  there  wasn't. 
At  any  rate,  there  seems  none  now,  though  I  cannot 
rid  myself  of  the  feeling  that  the  attention  with  which 
Mr.  Gaveston  now  honors  me  springs  from  a  desire 
to  measure  my  weapons  and  my  skill,  and  that  he 

39 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

holds  me  in  some  way  responsible  for  Berenice's 
sudden  change  of  attitude.  I'm  getting  to  be  a 
sour,  cynical,  suspicious  old  person,  Marion!  But 
nevertheless  I  do  enjoy  an  occasional  tilt  with  this 
Englishman,  who  has  a  quick  wit  and  a  practiced 
tongue,  and  who  is  undeniably  fascinating. 

We  have  made  acquaintance  with  all  our  English- 
speaking  fellow  -  passengers  now,  none  of  whom 
exactly  thrill  me  with  anticipation.  There  is  one 
of  the  naive,  insular  Britons  one  reads  about,  whom 
I  have  heretofore  believed  to  be  a  figment  of  the 
humorists'  brains.  I  find,  however,  that  I  have 
flattered  the  humorists.  None  of  them  ever  drew 
anything  quite  as  absurd  as  this  man,  though  their 
efforts  have  made  him  seem  rather  hackneyed  at 
times,  especially  when  he  asks  to  have  jokes  ex 
plained.  He  really  does,  Marion!  The  first  time 
he  did  it  I  thought  it  was  a  little  humorous  flight 
of  his  own,  but  I  soon  discovered  my  mistake. 

The  others,  notably  Gaveston,  regard  him  as 
legitimate  game  and  set  all  sorts  of  snares  for  him, 
into  which  he  walks  with  such  unfailing  regularity 
that  it  isn't  good  sport.  It's  like  trapping  a  puppy. 
Occasionally,  when  they  have  guyed  him  unmerci 
fully  for  half  an  hour,  he  asks,  with  an  air  of  deep  and 
subtle  suspicion,  "  I  say,  are  you  fellows  pulling  my 
leg?"  His  beautiful  name  is  Tomlinson,  and  he's 
too  good  to  be  true! 

We  crossed  "the  line"  yesterday  morning,  and  I 
heard  him  making  anxious  inquiries  the  night  before 
as  to  what  would  happen  then.  He  may  have  re 
ferred  to  the  ceremonies  with  which  old  travellers 

40 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

occasionally  amuse  themselves  at  the  expense  of 
people  crossing  the  equator  for  the  first  time,  but 
personally  I  think  he  fully  expected  to  be  jolted 
when  the  ship  scraped  her  keel  on  one  of  the  ribs  of 
the  world,  and  to  see  a  red  line  across  the  face  of  the 
waters.  However,  nothing  happened — even  to  him! 

The  others  have,  as  yet,  no  distinguishing  marks, 
except  that  they  are  all  fond  of  music,  and  one  or 
two  of  them  sing  fairly  well,  especially  Mr.  Gaveston. 
Last  night  I  vamped  accompaniments  for  their  cho 
ruses  for  an  hour,  and  out  o'  the  tail  o'  me  eye  I 
saw  Berenice  pass  the  window  once  or  twice.  She 
has  a  lovely  voice,  and  I  hope  this  musical  activity 
may  arouse  her  to  interest  in  things  again. 

This  morning  the  Captain,  who  is  inclined  to  be 
sociable  in  a  reserved,  deep-sea  kind  of  way,  dumped 
a  lot  of  books  off  the  camp-stool  I  was  using  as  a 
stand  and  sat  down  beside  me. 

"Mrs.  Pomeroy,"  he  began,  solemnly,  "are  you 
a  very  earnest  Christian?"  I  hadn't  expected  ex 
actly  that  sort  of  thing  from  the  Captain,  and  was 
rather  taken  aback,  but  replied  that  I  had  never 
limited  my  religious  faith  by  binding  it  with  a  creed. 
Then  he  said,  with  a  whimsical  twist  of  the  lips: 
"Mr.  Hobson  [a  missionary  we  have  on  board]  is 
going  to — '  oblige  the  company '  this  morning,  and  I 
believe  you  are  scheduled  to  play  the  hymns."  We 
laughed  a  little,  quietly,  and  he  explained  that  the 
energetic  Tomlinson  had  come  to  him,  very  much 
exercised  about  what  should  be  done. 

"You  see,"  he  continued,  twinkling,  "we  have 
competition  on  board.  There's  Hobson — and  there's 

41 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

also  a  Catholic  priest,  and  Tomlinson  was  disturbed. 
I  said  I  didn't  believe  the  passengers  wanted  service 
— they  look  like  very  sensible  people — but  he  said 
they  did."  He  went  on,  in  his  slow,  terse,  vivid  way, 
to  tell  me  that  quite  apart  from  the  fact  that  he 
professed  no  belief  himself,  he  really  didn't  like  to  see 
people  who  claimed  to  find  something  sacred  in  a 
Sunday  service  make  a  parody  of  it  on  a  ship. 
"And  that's  what  it  is  on  board,"  said  he.  "We 
have  no  place  for  it,  it's  impossible  to  create  an 
atmosphere  for  it  here,  and  they  simply  parody  what 
should  be  a  solemn  office  if  it  is  anything." 

I  was  inclined  to  agree  with  him  when,  as  Mr. 
Tomlinson  and  I  uncovered  the  organ  at  the  opening 
of  the  service,  we  had  first  to  remove  and  put  out  of 
sight  the  packs  of  cards  and  poker-beans  with  which 
this  group  of  Englishmen  occupied  themselves  last 
night. 

Later,  when  somebody  alluded  to  the  service — of 
which  the  least  said  the  better! — the  Captain's  face 
wrinkled  with  amusement.  He  decorously  ironed 
it  out,  then  caught  my  eye  and  laughed. 

" Do  you  know  what  I  think ?"  said  he.  "I  think 
Hobson  winks  at  that  Catholic  priest  as  he  goes  by." 

Yesterday  morning,  some  time  after  the  Captain 
had  pointed  out  to  me  the  dim  coast  of  Ecuador, 
the  lookout  came  to  report  land  ahead.  The  com 
mander  nodded,  and  when  the  man  had  gone,  said, 
with  a  little  gleam:  "Had  it  been  a  pancake,  he'd 
have  got  none  of  it!" 

I  wonder  if  you  can  imagine  what  a  relief  this  sort 
of  thing  is  after  a  few  hours  of  Uncle  Beverley,  who 

42 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

varies  his  details  of  dead-and-gone  wars  with  rem 
iniscences  of  his  youth. 

"When  I  was  a  boy  of  about  twelve — no,  about 
ten — I  really  think  I  must  have  been  twelve — no, 
I  couldn't  have  been  more  than  ten,  because — well, 
ten  or  twelve,  though  I  think — Berenice,  my  dear, 
did  you  ever  hear  me  say  how  old  I  was  when — " 

Oh,  Marion,  I  am  a  miserable  sinner,  and  there 
is  no  good  in  me !  Beverley  Ames  is  a  kindly,  patient, 
sweet-natured  man — I  see  it  more  clearly  every  day 
— and  I'm  a  beast  to  cavil  at  him.  But  why,  oh, 
why  wasn't  I  content  to  bore  him?  I  think  I  may 
say  without  exaggeration  that  I  bore  him  no  longer, 
but — !  Who  was  that  inspired  individual  who  said : 
"Heaven  defend  me  from  the  persons  who  'mean 
well'"? 

Truly,  I  did  mean  well ! 

At  Sea,  March  5th. 

I  have  just  learned  that  I  can  send  mail  ashore  to 
morrow  at  Paita,  though  when  a  northbound  ship 
will  pick  it  up  is  apparently  a  thing  no  human  can 
tell. 

We  lay  for  three  days  and  four  nights  in  the  river 
off  Guayaquil,*  watching  the  barges  float  down  to 
us,  piled  high  with  bananas  and  manned  by  three 
or  four  bronze,  half-naked  Ecuadorians,  or  hanging 
over  the  rail,  marvelling  that  so  important  a  port 
does  not  introduce  less  destructive  methods  of  hand- 

*  Pronounced  Gwy-ah-ke61, 
43 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPEPON 

ling  freight  than  prevail  there  as  yet.  Tons  and 
tons  of  our  cargo  were  dumped  indiscriminately  into 
these  barges,  and  fully  half  of  it  was  more  or  less 
broken,  which,  at  this  distance  from  the  market, 
must  result  in  serious  loss.  A  tug  comes  down  from 
the  city  and  tows  the  laden  barges  up  the  river. 

The  Guayas*  River  is  a  curiosity  in  itself,  for  even 
at  Guayaquil,  thirty-five  miles  or  so  from  the  gulf, 
it  responds  to  the  tides  with  more  than  enthusiasm. 
For  a  few  hours  it  hurls  its  muddy  torrent  down  to 
the  sea,  and  then,  all  in  a  minute,  changes  its  mind 
and  races  madly  back  on  itself,  swirling  and  seething 
and  gurgling  and  foaming  in  its  effort  to  swallow  its 
tail  and  return  to  wherever  it  came  from. 

After  watching  this  hysterical  performance  for  sev 
eral  days,  one  finds  in  it  a  kind  of  explanation — 
or  interpretation — of  certain  characteristic  phases 
of  the  South  American  temperament.  We  Anglo- 
Saxons  are  accustomed  to  streams  that  respond  to 
the  tides,  if  at  all,  with  dignity  and  circumspection, 
and  to  hills  whose  steadfastness  has  become  an 
axiom.  One  wonders  what  the  third  or  fourth — or 
sixth — generation  of  us  would  be  if  we  lived  in  a 
volcanic  country,  on  the  edge  of  a  swift,  scatterpated 
river  that  never  knew  its  own  mind  and  had  no  more 
self-control  than  to  yield  its  full  strength  and  im 
petuosity  to  every  tide  that  flows. 

One  also  wonders  where  all  the  water  piles  up 
when  it  is  running  in,  and  how  the  radiant  banks 
can  be  so  patient. 

*  Pronounced  Gwy'-ass, 
44 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

All  sorts  of  queer  craft  went  up  and  down  with  the 
current;  little  islands  of  vines  drifted  past;  once  a 
porpoise,  far  from  his  happy  home,  surged  up  the 
turbid  river;  and  once  we  saw  an  alligator.  But 
most  interesting  of  all  it  was  to  watch  the  men  un 
loading  freight  into  the  clumsy  barges,  or  to  see  the 
sharp  lights  and  shadows  of  the  banana-boats  as 
they  came  down-stream  between  vivid  shores,  the 
strong,  lithe,  dusky  figures  of  the  boatmen  silhouetted 
against  the  green  and  golden  load. 

There  were  also  some  wonderful  sunsets,  staining 
the  river  red,  while  horsemen  splashed  through  the 
velvety,  wet  meadows,  driving  the  cattle  in  for  the 
night,  and  white  electric  lights  popped  out  of  the 
graying  town. 

A  business  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Ames'  came 
aboard  as  soon  as  the  physician  and  the  Captain  of 
the  Port  had  concluded  their  visits  and  the  ship 
had  been  officially  received,  bringing  us  huge  baskets 
of  delicious  tropical  fruits — things  with  queer  names 
that  I  won't  even  attempt  to  spell — and  a  startling 
arrangement  of  flowers  in  the  native  fashion,  which 
he  very  adequately  described  as  "  a  dissipated  dumb 
bell  gone  crazy,"  though  in  structure  it  more  nearly 
resembled  an  Indian-club  than  a  dumb-bell.  He  also 
brought  us  two  pieces  of  Bishop's  lawn,  with  which 
we  promptly  screened  our  doors  and  windows, 
finding  it  a  much  better  protection  against  insects 
than  the  mosquito-netting. 

Guayaquil  looked  very  attractive  from  the  dis 
tance  we  kept,  spread  along  the  river  and  over  some 
hills,  but  the  American  travelling  salesman,  Jones, 

45 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

who  disobeyed  instructions  and  went  ashore,  flippant 
speech  in  his  mouth,  returned  pale  and  subdued, 
admitting  that  the  situation  in  the  city  was  frightful. 

Yellow -fever  and  smallpox  they  have  always 
with  them,  but  since  "el  bubonico"  has  attacked 
them  the  inhabitants  are  panic-stricken,  and  whole 
families  are  being  rushed  to  the  country,  where  the 
plague  is  following.  When  we  arrived,  there  was 
absolutely  no  serum  left  in  the  city.  The  Captain 
brought  fifty  tubes  to  a  friend,  wrho  sold  what  he 
didn't  need  for  five  dollars  a  tube  before  he  left  the 
dock,  and  had  to  fight  to  keep  what  he  required  for 
his  own  family  and  friends. 

Everybody  is  deploring  the  spirit  that  makes  a 
city  of  fifty  or  sixty  thousand  inhabitants — a  great 
port  of  a  great  country — unwilling  either  to  clean 
itself  up  or  to  permit  its  neighbors  to  do  the  work. 
A  man  who  came  on  board  said  that  the  United 
States  had  offered  to  send  men  to  clean  the  city  and 
to  pay  half  the  expenses,  in  order  to  protect  its  own 
ports,  and  that  the  people  had  not  only  rejected  the 
offer,  but  had  hotly  resented  it,  as  a  piece  of  im 
pertinent  Yankee  interference,  regarding  it  as  an 
effort  to  gain  a  foothold  which  would  later  be  used 
as  the  first  step  toward  American  occupation  of 
Ecuador! 

We  heard  sickening  details  concerning  conditions 
there,  and  while  some  of  them  were  doubtless  ex 
aggerated,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  most  of  them,  for 
I  myself  have  seen  the  boatmen  drink  avidly  of  the 
filthy  river  water,  in  which  we  refused  even  to  bathe. 
After  that,  anything  is  possible! 

46 


Copyright,  IQOQ,  by  Underwood  &  Underwood,  N,  Y. 

GUAYAQUIL     SPREAD     ALONG     THE     RIVER     AND     HILLS 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Small  boats  came  alongside  with  venders  of  fruit 
and  beautiful  "Panama"  hats,  the  best  of  which, 
we  are  told,  are  sold  here.  Certainly  they  were  very 
attractive,  and  we  all  indulged — Mr.  Tomlinson  very 
freely.  I  think  he  has  eight  now. 

During  the  long,  hot  days  in  the  river  we  got  rath 
er  friendly,  and  indulged  in  various  pastimes.  One 
night  I  came  upon  Mr.  Gaveston  and  young  Leibnitz 
singing  Am  Meer  on  deck,  and  joined  them,  my 
wee  contralto  pipe  having  assumed  quite  respectable 
dimensions  in  this  tropic  air.  Presently  everybody 
drifted  around  to  that  side,  and  one  voice  after 
another  joined  the  chorus.  Even  Berenice  quietly 
pulled  her  chair  over  beside  mine  and  slipped  into  it, 
but  for  a  long  time  she  was  silent.  We  sang  Scotch 
airs  and  plantation  melodies,  German  lieder  and 
Italian  street  songs.  Finally,  Mr.  Gaveston,  across 
the  deck,  turned  to  me,  saying  that  he  had  been 
"much  interested"  in  the  singing  of  The  S tar- 
Spangled  Banner  on  the  other  ship,  and  would  I  be 
good  enough  to  sing  it  for  him  now  ?  Marion,  I  like 
to  fence,  but  I  hate  a  catty  man! 

Of  course,  I  resorted  to  more  or  less  feeble  sub 
terfuge  and  was  inwardly  raging,  when  suddenly 
Berenice  said  she'd  sing  it,  and  sing  it  she  did,  from 
beginning  to  end.  I  don't  yet  know  whether  she 
had  a  kindly  impulse  to  save  me  embarrassment,  or 
whether  she  wished  to  indicate  to  Mr.  Gaveston  that 
she  was  willing  to  play  with  him  again,  since  he 
immediately  re-established  himself  at  her  side.  But 
at  any  rate,  one  supercilious,  smiling  Englishman 
has  learned  that  there  are  Americans  who  know  the 
4  47 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

words  of  their  national  anthem!  Would  to  Heaven 
somebody  would  write  us  one  more  largely  significant 
and  better  worth  remembering — and  then  have  it 
set  within  the  range  of  the  average  human  voice. 

After  we  had  been  singing  for  an  hour  or  so,  it 
was  suggested  that  we  finish  with  God  Save  the  King 
and  go  into  the  cabin  for  a  game  of  bridge.  Will  you 
tell  me  why,  whenever  three  or  four  Englishmen  are 
gathered  together,  they  always  succeed  in  making 
everybody  stand  up  and  sing  God  Save  ihe  King? 
Perhaps  if  we  were  equally  fervid  about  our  Star- 
Spangled  Banner  we  might  at  least  know  the  words. 
I  know  them  now,  though.  I  made  Berenice  write 
them  off  that  very  night,  and  memorized  them  be 
fore  I  slept.  I  say  them  every  night  after  I  go  to 
bed. 

Anyway,  here  we  were,  on  a  Chilean  ship,  under  a 
Danish  captain,  in  an  Ecuadorian  river;  we  were  a 
handful  of  English,  five  Americans  and  a  German  or 
two,  while  by  far  the  majority  of  the  passengers 
were  South  Americans  who  had  not  joined  our  group, 
and  yet  we  stood  and  the  men  uncovered  while  we 
sang  God  Save  the  King!  Almost  before  the  last  note 
was  ended,  Gaveston,  Tomlinson,  and  one  or  two  of 
the  younger  men  broke  into  Rule  Britannia!  One 
well-bred,  elderly  Englishman  protested:  "No,  no! 
Not  now!  Not  here!"  but  they  sang  it  through, 
stamping  on  the  deck  in  their  enthusiasm. 

The  next  night,  after  dinner,  the  English  crowd 
had  their  coffee  on  deck,  and  Mr.  Tomlinson  arose, 
a  glass  of  cognac  in  his  hand.  "Gentlemen,"  said 
he,  1'the  King,  God  bless  him!  It  is  fitting  that  we 

48 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

should  drink  his  health  here,  in  waters  washing  shores 
which,  though  not  yet  ours,  we  hope  may  one  day 
be  ours."  And — as  they  would  say  themselves  — 
there  you  are! 

I  notice,  too,  that  most  of  them  are  very  reluctant 
to  admit  that  we  can  ever  build  the  canal.  "  If 
that  canal  is  ever  finished—  '  they  say,  sceptically. 
And  as  a  last  resort,  they  always  fall  back  upon  the 
statement  that  they  don't  see  how  we  can  expect  it 
to  "pay,"  and  seem  utterly  unable  to  understand 
that  we  don't  expect  it  to  "pay,"  financially,  for  a 
good  many  years.  It  is  perfectly  evident  that  these 
particular  Englishmen  do  not  want  it  built. 

It  occurs  to  me  that  all  this,  as  well  as  the  small 
number  of  Americans  on  board,  is  significant.  We 
are  protecting  these  South  American  countries  from 
political  conquest,  but  there  is  going  on  a  commer 
cial  invasion  to  which  we,  as  a  people,  are  appar 
ently  blind  or  indifferent,  and  which  may  some  day 
have  consequences  that  we  would  do  well  to  antici 
pate. 

Apropos  of  singing,  the  indefatigable  Tomlinson 
approached  me  yesterday  with: 

"  I  say,  Mrs.  Pomeroy,  the  next  time  we  have 
service,  would  you  mind  playing  the  hymns  we  all 
know,  y'  know?" 

I  said  that,  in  the  absence  of  any  music,  I  had  been 
obliged  to  play  those  that  I  happened  to  know  my 
self,  and  had  chosen  Nearer,  My  God,  to  Thee,  and 
Rock  of  Ages  as  hymns  so  familiar  that  everybody 
could  sing  them. 

"Yes,  yes;  but  you're  an  American,  d'ye  see,  and 

49 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

we  don't  know  your  tunes.  I  mean  to  say,  next 
time  would  you  mind  playing  the  ones  we  all  know  ?" 

I  explained  in  words  of  one  syllable  that  I  had 
played  "the  ones  we  all  know"  in  America,  and 
that  if  there  were  others  in  general  use  I  was  not 
familiar  with  them,  which  proved  too  much  for  his 
mind  to  grasp  all  at  once.  He  recovered  sufficiently 
by  night,  however,  to  borrow  the  Spanish  grapes 
you  gave  me,  to  bring  him  luck  in  a  poker  game,  and 
returned  announcing  that  he  had  won  three  jack 
pots  in  succession,  and  that  he  would  really  like  to 
own  a  bunch  of  those  little  glass  grapes.  (N.B. — I 
still  own  mine.) 

The  younger  men  play  a  little  poker  every  night 
— ha'penny  a  point  and  "thrippence"  limit — and 
as  the  Tomlinson  is  just  acquiring  that  accomplish 
ment,  he  always  loses,  sometimes  as  much  as  a  shil 
ling,  which  causes  him  deep  and  poignant  anguish. 
He  confided  to  me  that  it  was  "awf'ly  bad  form" 
to  play  cards  for  money  in  England,  and  that  if  his 
wife  knew  he  was  doing  it  she'd  be  sure  he  was 
"going  straight  to  hell" — that  being  evidently  the 
lightest  penalty  for  a  violation  of  "form"  where 
he  comes  from.  Nevertheless,  I  observe  that  it  is 
usually  he  who  goes  about  beating  up  recruits  for 
the  game. 

The  smoking-room  was  so  hot  while  we  lay  in  the 
river  that  the  men  brought  their  poker  up  to  the 
ladies'  cabin,  hitherto  sacred  to  music  and  bridge, 
and  I  occasionally  watched  it  for  a  little  while.  I 
noticed  that  Mr.  Gaveston  was  always  banker,  and 
that  if  it  was  discovered  that  some  one  had  failed  to 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

ante,  it  was  generally  he  who  made  good  the  defi 
ciency. 

Berenice  has  apparently  taken  him  back  into  full 
favor  again.  Indeed,  she  woke  from  her  trance  that 
night  we  sang  on  deck,  and  ever  since  has  been  in 
abnormally  high  spirits.  She  talks  and  walks  and 
sings  and  plays  games  with  apparently  the  keenest 
enjoyment,  and  has  all  at  once  become  the  life  of  the 
ship,  so  that  I'm  a  little  breathless  trying  to  keep  up 
with  her.  She  even  smiles  on  the  Blakeney  boy,  to 
whom  she  has  hitherto  turned  the  coldest  of  shoulders, 
and  now  treats  him  with  an  audacious  gayety  which 
seems  somehow  curiously  tinged  with  defiance — 
though  why  she  should  wish  to  defy  him  I  cannot 
imagine. 

He  and  I  have  had  several  long  chats,  and  during 
one  of  them  I  encouraged  him  to  talk  of  Perry  Waite, 
whom  he  describes  as  rather  a  remarkable  young 
man.  Aside  from  their  desire  that  Berenice  should 
not  marry  until  she  is  older,  the  Ames'  objection  to 
him  was  based  on  his  extreme  youth  and  on  the  fact 
that  he  was  unknown  to  them  socially.  As  he  had 
apparently  neither  money  nor  definite  prospects, 
they  also  decided  that  he  was  a  precocious  young 
fortune-hunter.  Blakeney,  on  the  other  hand,  says 
that  while  Waite  made  over  his  share  in  his  father's 
estate  to  his  mother  and  sisters,  he  has  put  himself 
through  college,  refusing  financial  assistance,  that 
he  made  a  brilliant  record  there,  and  that  he  is 
"  going  to  get  anything  he  thinks  worth  going  after." 
I  wonder  whether  he  is? 

The  last  night  in  the  river  was  really  very  hot ;  it 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

rained  in  a  smothery,  steamy  sort  of  way,  and  all 
sorts  of  flying  things  came  aboard  to  visit  their 
crawling  cousins.  There  were  mosquitoes  —  per 
sistent  ones — and  tiny  flies,  no  bigger  than  a  pin's 
head,  with  a  very  venomous  sting.  There  was  also 
a  crazy  kind  of  insect  as  big  as  a  small  beetle 
—black  and  shiny  like  one,  too — who  carries  an  arc- 
light  over  his  eyes,  which  he  turns  on  at  will,  and 
who  slits  the  dark  like  a  streak  of  real  lightning, 
so  fast  he  flies.  They  say  three  of  him  in  a  bottle 
will  furnish  a  light  strong  enough  to  read  by.  He 
was  very  numerous,  in  the  cabin  and  out,  and  very 
squshy  to  step  on.  There  were  little  white- winged 
moths,  decorated  with  tiny  black  dots,  and  a  few 
grasshoppers  —  and  of  course,  legions  of  ants  and 
spiders  and  cockroaches,  our  industrious  little  trav 
elling  companions.  It  is  not  for  any  one  visiting 
the  tropics  to  be  squeamish  about  things  that  crawl, 
dear! 

Neither  about  things  to  eat.  Much  of  the  food 
on  board  tastes  very  good,  particularly  the  native 
dishes,  which  they  know  how  to  cook,  and  the 
manner  of  its  preparation  may  be  irreproachable. 
I  prefer  to  believe  that  it  is,  and  have  thought  it 
just  as  well  not  to  investigate  too  carefully. 

Some  of  the  men,  including  the  younger  Eng 
lishmen,  the  Germans,  our  American  commercial 
tourist  and  Uncle  Beverley,  grumble  continually 
about  the  food,  the  service  and  the  accommodations 
generally;  but  those  things,  like  most  other  things 
in  life,  are  as  you  take  them.  There  is  a  rule  against 
eating  in  the  ladies'  cabin  which  some  of  them  find 

52 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

offensive,  though  I  fancy  when  the  ship  fills  up  with 
families  of  innumerable  small  children,  as  I  am  told 
it  will,  we  may  see  the  wisdom  of  this  regulation. 
There  is  a  rule  against  serving  two  orders  of  eggs 
to  any  person  at  one  meal  which  has  aroused  especial 
fury,  but  the  explanation  is  easily  found  in  the 
difficulty  of  getting  eggs  along  this  coast  and  in 
the  length  of  the  voyage. 

Our  dining-room  steward  is  a  funny  old  Chilean, 
seamy  of  face  and  squat  of  figure,  who  looks  out  for 
us  pretty  well,  and  who  smilingly  responds,  "Como 
no?"  (literally  "How  not?")  when  we  ask  for  some 
thing  not  on  the  table.  Mr.  Blakeney  says  that  this 
man's  " Muy  bien"  (very  well),  upon  receiving  an 
order,  fills  him  with  confidence  that  "  all's  right  with 
the  world" — and  there  I  am  content  to  leave  it. 
*  *  * 

P.S. — Did  you  know  that  Ned  Barrington  had 
been  appointed  Ambassador  to  Brazil  ?  Uncle  Bev- 
erley,  who  has  letters  to  most  of  our  ministers  and 
consuls,  was  regretting  a  moment  ago  that  he  had 
none  to  Ambassador  Barrington.  I  told  him  not 
to  worry,  as  I  had  made  mud  pies  with  the  gen 
tleman  when  his  diplomacy  was  only  instinctive, 
but  it  was  the  first  intimation  I  had  had  that  Ned 
was  at  Rio,  and  I  nearly  turned  handsprings  in 
my  joy — and  think  what  that  would  have  done  to 
Uncle  Beverley!  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  colossal 
luck  ?  You  know,  I  never  had  such  good  times  with 
anybody  else  as  I've  had  with  Ned — he's  the  only 
man  I  ever  knew  who  never  disappointed  me — and 
I  haven't  seen  him — oh,  it's  years!  I  think  the  last 

53 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

time  was  just  after  Clark  died.  And  to  think  of 
his  being  an  ambassador!  Sounds  like  a  fairy  tale, 
doesn't  it  ? 

Off  Salaverry,  Peru,  March  gth. 

Well,  my  dear,  I  have  learned  why  the  gentleman 
who  represents  this  steamship  company  in  Panama 
could  not  tell  us  the  exact  date  of  our  arrival  in 
Callao.*  Guayaquil,  where  we  lay  twelve  idle  hours 
because  the  customs  people  didn't  send  out  our 
clearance  papers,  showed  us  one  reason — and  now  we 
have  another. 

There  are  two  companies  on  this  coast,  and  ap 
parently  they  cannot  arrive  at  any  agreement  about 
anything,  the  result  being  that  no  steamer  will  leave 
any  port  as  long  as  there  is  a  pound  of  freight — 
I  was  going  to  say  in  sight,  but  it  isn't  even  neces 
sary  for  it  to  be  in  sight.  It  need  only  be  rumored ! 

In  witness  whereof  we  arrived  at  a  place  called 
Pacasmayot  night  before  last,  expecting  to  sail  again 
immediately,  but  the  agent  came  aboard  and  an 
nounced  that  he  had  accepted  for  shipment  two 
hundred  and  fifty  head  of  cattle  that  were  being 
driven  down  to  the  coast!  The  Captain  used  some 
nautical  language,  I  think,  but  he  waited. 

Of  course,  no  merely  human  intelligence  can  un 
derstand  why,  since  there  is  always  freight  enough 
for  both  lines,  they  cannot  agree  to  establish  certain 
time  schedules  and  keep  to  them;  but  that  is  not 

*  Pronounced  Cal-yah-oh. 
t  Pronounced  Pacas-my'-oh. 

54 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

the  way  business  is  done  on  the  west  coast.  Con« 
sequently,  a  five-thousand-ton  steamer,  laden  with 
passengers  and  fairly  bulging  with  freight,  lay  for 
twenty-four  hours  off  the  little  village  of  Pacasmayo, 
waiting  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  cattle,  while  the 
engines  ate  coal  and  the  passengers  ate  food  and  an 
idle  crew  drew  pay. 

We  have  been  running  along  "the  rainless  coast," 
and,  faith,  it  looks  the  part!  Gray-brown  cliffs, 
that  no  tender  green  thing  has  ever  touched,  lie 
naked  beneath  the  unveiled  splendor  of  an  incan 
descent  sky,  and  the  long,  lazy,  opaque  green  waves 
of  the  Pacific  roll  over  the  open  roadstead  and  break 
in  a  white  line  on  the  yellow  sands  at  their  base. 
Most  of  the  villages — those  that  we  have  seen  thus 
far,  at  least — bake  in  a  dingy  huddle  on  the  beach, 
close  under  these  sheer,  high  cliffs,  where  even 
if  a  cool  breeze  were  to  blow,  it  could  not  reach 
them. 

Paita,*  off  which  we  lay  all  one  day,  was  such  a 
place.  Men  came  aboard  there  with  hats — not  so 
fine  as  those  at  Guayaquil,  but  not  so  expensive, 
either — and  fruit  and  curious  little  pottery  whistling 
jars,  called  "huacos,"  said  to  be  dug  from  ancient 
graves,  of  which  the  irrepressible  Tomlinson  bought 
several,  though  warned  that  these  particular  huacos 
were  probably  made  in  Germany.  Our  German 
friends  have  the  wooden  nutmeg  beaten  to  a  finish, 
by-the-way. 

Eten.t  off  which  we  lay  the  next  day,  was  rather 

*  Pronounced  Py'-ta. 
t  Pronounced  Ay-ten. 

55 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

less  dreary  than  Paita.  Some  enterprising  person 
once  sold  a  can  of  paint  in  Eten.  There  we  took  on 
sugar  and  a  lot  of  cattle — poor,  silent,  frightened 
things! — which  were  brought  out  the  mile  or  two 
from  shore  in  big  lighters,  so  deep  that  from  the  ship 
we  could  not  see  the  steers  crowded  into  them  until 
they  were  quite  close. 

These  thirty-ton  "lanchas,"  as  they  are  called, 
were  rowed  by  eight  or  ten  men,  who  employed  a 
circular  movement  of  the  arms  to  manage  the  gigan 
tic  oars,  pulling  with  their  hands  high  over  their 
heads  in  order  that  the  blades  might  reach  the  water, 
so  high  above  it  were  they.  One  of  these  wide,  heavy 
boats,  with  its  eight  or  ten  long  oars  dipping  and 
gleaming  rhythmically,  reminds  one  of  the  galleys 
of  old. 

The  cattle,  I  was  glad  to  learn,  are  no  longer  swung 
aboard  by  their  horns,  the  Peruvian  Government 
having  forbidden  this  very  brutal  practice.  They 
are  now  put  into  a  sort  of  sling  passed  under  their 
bodies  and  attached  to  a  cable  from  a  donkey-engine. 
It  doesn't  hurt  them,  except  when  a  roll  of  the 
ship  brings  them  banging  helplessly  against  the  side, 
and  even  then  they  make  no  outcry ;  but  it  is  easy 
to  see  from  the  rolling  of  their  eyes  how  terrified 
they  are.  Many  of  the  South  Americans  on  board 
find  this  a  merry  spectacle,  and  take  their  little 
children  to  watch  it  by  the  hour.  The  harder  the 
hapless,  helpless  beasts  are  banged,  the  more  gleeful 
the  crowd  at  the  rail. 

Another  ship  of  this  line,  north  bound,  was  also 
in  port,  unloading  horses  in  the  same  way,  and  they, 

56 


THH    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

less  patient  than  the  steers,  kicked  and  plunged  in 
the  sling  and  sometimes  tried  to  jump  overboard, 
in  their  fright,  after  they  had  been  deposited  in  the 
lancha. 

As  there  is  always  more  or  less  swell  at  Eten,  the 
ladder  is  not  lowered  there.  Instead,  a  sort  of  iron 
tub,  seating  six,  is  let  down  into  the  lancha  bringing 
out  the  passengers,  and  is  then  swung  aboard  with 
its  human  freight  by  the  donkey-engine.  I  found 
this,  as  entertainment,  much  more  to  my  taste  than 
the  loading  of  the  cattle. 

The  ship  is  now  so  full  that  the  couches  in  the 
ladies'  cabin  are  used  every  night  as  beds,  children 
swarm  everywhere,  an  incredible  number  of  people 
pack  themselves  into  one  state-room,  and  every 
body  chatters.  Day  or  night,  they  never  stop 
talking ! 

The  Captain  has  very  considerately  had  our  chairs 
and  pillow-covered  bench,  with  our  rugs,  books,  etc., 
moved  to  the  bridge,  under  the  eye  of  the  man  on 
watch,  as  some  of  these  people  are  respecters  neither 
of  person  nor  of  property.  It  is  significant  that 
before  we  could  get  keys  to  our  state-rooms  we  had 
to  deposit  their  value  with  the  chief  steward.  On 
second  thoughts,  I  believe  it  was  with  the  bar-keep ! 

As  it  is  considered  rather  aristocratic  and  ex 
clusive  down  here  not  to  go  to  the  dining-room,  one 
has  constantly  to  dodge  stewards  hurrying  along  the 
decks  with  plates  of  steaming  cazuela,  a  favorite  and 
very  palatable  native  dish — sort  of  a  cross  between 
a  vegetable  soup  and  an  Irish  stew,  and  yet  like 
neither.  In  the  very  small  state-room  next  ours  are 

57 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

three  adults  and  two  children,  none  of  whom  ever 
leave  it  for  any  purpose  whatever,  except  that  the 
children  run  about  the  decks  more  or  less. 

There  are  also  to  be  seen  all  sorts  of  vagaries  in 
dress.  There  are  several  women  who  carefully  wear 
their  immaculate  white  shirt-waists  hanging  outside 
their  skirts,  unbelted,  and  there  is  one  whose  glory 
out-Solomons  Solomon,  and  who  has  not  yet  ap 
peared  twice  in  the  same  costume.  She  dawns  upon 
us,  even  at  almuerza — the  ten-o'clock  meal  corre 
sponding  to  the  French  dejeuner — in  Empire  gowns 
of  pale  chiffon  and  lace,  decollete,  and  billows  in 
after  everybody  else  is  seated,  casting  languishing 
glances  at  the  table  where  the  young  Englishmen 
sit.  Apparently  the  lady  has  yet  to  learn  that  the 
Anglo-Saxon,  like  his  Latin  cousin,  does  not  in 
evitably  admire  what  he  stares  at. 

Her  complexion  is  not  visible  through  her  make-up, 
but  her  hair-dressing  is  a  thing  of  wonder  and  amaze. 
The  other  day  disaster  overtook  her  just  as  she  was 
about  to  precede  the  Captain  through  a  doorway, 
and  he  afterward  confessed  to  me  that  it  was  an 
awkward  moment,  "for  a  bunch  of  curls  is  not  a 
thing  a  man  can  pick  up  and  return  to  a  lady," 
said  he.  I  asked  him  what  he  did,  and  he  said  he 
bolted  incontinently.  She  took  her  meals  in  her 
room  for  a  day  or  two  after  that,  but  subsequently 
reappeared — sans  ringlets,  however. 

Between  these  extremes  are  all  the  shades  of  dress 
and  undress,  tending  principally  to  pale  blue  and 
pink  silk  blouses  worn  with  black  skirts,  though  a 
few  women  have  clothes  eloquent  of  Paris. 

58 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

The  most  flagrant  example  of  undress  was  fur 
nished  by  our  own  countryman,  the  person  named 
Jones,  who  nonchalantly  appeared  at  almuerza  one 
morning  arrayed  in  pajamas  and  bath-robe.  The 
Captain  very  promptly  and  properly  sent  a  steward 
to  request  him  either  to  have  the  meal  served  in  his 
room  or  to  dress.  He  dressed — but  later  he  said, 
with  great  scorn,  that  the  Captain  was  a  "dude." 
He  is  what  is  technically  known  as  an  "Amuri- 
can." 

Apropos  of  almuerza,  Uncle  Beverley  actually 
left  his  hobby  one  day  long  enough  to  talk  a  little 
about  the  steamship  lines  on  this  coast.  To  be  sure, 
they  may  be  classed  as  Business.  Observe  the 
capital.  Anyway,  he  said  that  before  this  line  could 
be  a  success  its  commissariat  must  be  improved 
and  properly  regulated.  "Now,"  said  he,  "7  don't 
like  my  breakfast  and  luncheon  combined  at  ten 
o'clock  in  the  morning."  Q.  E.  D.  How  we  of 
Anglo-Saxon  blood  do  love  to  impose  our  habits 
and  our  beliefs  on  our  more  courteous  neighbors! 

The  lower  deck  is  hung  with  cages  containing 
parrots,  parroquets,  and  singing  birds  of  all  sorts, 
all  making  more  or  less  noise — the  parrot  family, 
of  course,  more.  The  birds  sing  less  and  less  as  we 
leave  the  equator,  and  many  of  them  will  die  soon. 
Some  one  brought  a  kinkajou  on  board  at  Guayaquil. 
The  poor  thing  was  savage  and  terrified,  and  as 
people  teased  it  constantly,  we  heard  it  scolding  and 
squealing  all  day.  Finally,  after  two  or  three  days, 
it  was  killed,  because  the  owner  had  not  been  suc 
cessful  in  taming  it,  forsooth!  I  am  glad  to  say  that 

59 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

in  the  mean  time  it  had  inflicted  nice,  long,  deep,  red 
scratches  on  several  of  its  tormentors. 

Leaving  Eten,  we  passed  a  big  colony  of  seals, 
dark  dots  on  the  beach,  and  the  Captain  told  us 
there  was  a  penalty  for  killing  them,  as  they  add  to 
the  guano  deposits.  Later  we  saw  condors  slowly 
veering  and  wheeling,  and  their  great  shadows  on 
the  yellow,  sandy  hillside  were  almost  as  clear  as 
they. 

All  the  way  down  from  Paita  we  have  run  very 
near  the  shore,  and  the  changing  lights  on  its  tawny 
cliffs  have  been  marvellous,  especially  during  the 
afterglow,  which  has  thus  far  been  more  brilliant 
than  the  sunset. 

At  one  of  these  little  ports  we  got  our  first  glimpse 
of  the  Andes.  It  was  a  cloudy  morning,  and  we 
were  all  lounging  rather  dully  on  deck,  wondering 
how  soon  we  should  sail,  when  Mr.  Tomlinson  ex 
claimed  : 

' '  I  say !     That's  a  mountain !" 

"Where?"  I  asked,  peering  into  the  grayness  at 
about  the  height  one  would  naturally  expect  a  coast 
mountain  to  be. 

"No,  no!  Not  down  there!  Up!  Look!"  I 
looked,  and  laughed  derisively. 

"That?  My  dear  man,  that's  simply  a  denser 
cloud." 

"  I  tell  you  it's  a  mountain,"  he  insisted,  and  went 
for  his  glass — and  a  mountain  it  was! 

Then  I  knew  why  the  sun  veiled  himself  so  jeal 
ously  at  this  point.  It  must  be  bad  enough  to  be 
shouldered  out  of  heaven  by  an  upstart  pile  of  rocks, 

60 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

without  having  earthlings  see  it  done.  Later,  I 
asked  the  Captain  if  the  Andes  came  down  to  the 
coast  here,  and  he  said: 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  The  spurs  run  down  here 
and  there." 

Worse  and  worse!     Poor  old  sun! 

We  approached  Pacasmayo  toward  dusk,  and  the 
Captain  called  Berenice  and  me  to  the  bridge,  "to 
see  what's  left  of  the  ark,"  he  said.  And  there,  far 
from  land,  in  a  tumbling  sea,  were  two  men  on  a 
crazy  raft,  on  which  a  crazier  sail  had  been  rigged. 
I  immediately  scented  shipwreck  and  romance,  but 
the  Captain  said  that  that  was  a  sort  of  craft  much  in 
use  thereabout,  where  the  people  are  very  poor  and 
have  few  real  boats. 

When  we  came  to  anchor  off  the  town,  we  were 
much  interested  to  see  men  riding  "caballitos" 
(little  horses),  curious  fishing-canoes  made  of  wisps 
of  straw  lashed  together,  which  the  fishermen  bestride 
and  propel  with  their  feet  as  paddles.  Tomlinson 
the  unquenchable  at  once  made  anxious  inquiries 
as  to  whether  he  could  buy  one  of  these  caballitos, 
as  he  wished  to  take  one  home  to  his  wife! 

As  I  have  said,  we  lay  twenty-four  hours  off 
Pacasmayo,  waiting  for  the  kye  to  come  hame,  and 
when  they  finally  arrived  they  were  rowed  out  to 
the  ship  in  lanchas  manned  by  only  four  men.  You 
may  imagine  the  time  it  took. 

At  all  of  these  ports  we  put  off  as  wrell  as  took  on 
cargo,  always  in  the  same  way  and  generally  with 
the  same  results.  English  goods,  in  heavy,  iron- 
strapped  boxes,  survived  the  rough  handling  pretty 

61 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

well;  German  manufactures,  packed  in  firm  crates 
or  boxes,  then  in  excelsior,  covered  with  burlap 
and  iron  strapped,  endured  anything  and  everything 
without  damage.  But  oh,  the  American  things! 
Most  of  them  were  in  flimsy  pine  packing-cases, 
which  split  open,  exposing  and  frequently  scattering 
the  contents.  This  is  doubtless  one  reason  why 
American  manufactures  are  not  more  popular  down 
here.  They  so  seldom  arrive  intact.  And  think 
what  must  happen  to  them  if,  after  the  boxes  have 
been  cracked  and  split  open  in  the  boats,  they  have 
still  to  be  carried,  as  many  of  them  are,  miles  and 
miles  inland,  over  rough  roads  and  sometimes  on 
pack -mules.  Think  of  waiting  months  for  goods 
and  then  having  them  arrive  in  that  condition!  I 
wish  our  exporters  could  see  how  their  brittle  cases 
go  to  pieces  and  the  terrible  waste  of  time  and  money 
and  material  that  results.  They  would  then  under 
stand  why  these  people  generally  prefer  to  buy  in 
ferior  European  manufactures,  knowing  that  they 
will  at  least  be  available  when  they  get  here,  rather 
than  to  risk  having  the  better  American  goods 
utterly  useless  on  arrival  because  of  their  poor 
packing. 

Apropos  of  cargo,  Mr.  Ames  did  a  fine  thing  the 
other  day.  I  asked  the  Captain  who  fed  the  live 
stock  on  board,  and  he  said  that  they  were  neither 
fed  nor  watered.  Just  then  he  was  called  away,  and 
when  Mr.  Ames  presently  came  along,  my  indigna 
tion  boiled  over  in  speech.  A  little  later,  three  or 
four  of  us  were  chatting  with  the  Captain,  and  in 
the  nicest  possible  way  Mr.  Ames  led  the  conver- 

62 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

sation  around  to  the  transportation  of  cattle,  and 
asked,  as  if  casually: 

"By-the-way,  Captain,  do  you  or  the  shippers 
feed  them?" 

The  Captain  replied,  as  before,  that  they  were 
neither  fed  nor  watered,  explaining  that  the  shippers 
would  not  do  it,  and  that  the  company  took  them  at 
so  low  a  rate  that  it  could  not  afford  to  furnish 
anything  but  transportation. 

"Well,  now,  I  can  quite  understand  your  not 
undertaking  to  feed  them,"  said  Uncle  Beverley, 
pleasantly,  "and  it  is  well  known  that  they  can  get 
along  pretty  well  without  food  for  several  days  if 
they  have  water,  but  it's  pretty  hard  not  to  give 
them  water,  Captain!  They  may  have  been  driven 
many  miles  through  a  dusty  country  before  they 
were  embarked.  Don't  you  think  you  could  arrange 
to  give  them  a  little  water  every  day?" 

The  Captain  smiled  and  said  perhaps  he  could. 
The  next  morning  I  saw  Mr.  Ames  go  and  speak  to 
him,  and  the  Captain  laughed  a  little  and  sent  for 
the  first  officer. 

"  Mr.  Ames  wants  to  know  whether  the  cattle  have 
been  watered,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  other.  "They've  all  had 
water." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Ames.  "I'm  sure  the 
poor  brutes  are  grateful.  Thank  you,  Captain." 
And  then  he  went  very  quietly  away  and  said 
nothing  about  it. 

He  is  good,  Marion!  I  had  rather  discouraged  his 
attention  for  a  day  or  two,  feeling  the  need  of  a 

63 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

lubricant  after  swallowing  so  much  of  the  ancient 
dust  of  battles,  and  had  kept  myself  surrounded  most 
of  the  time  by  some  of  the  other  men.  But  after 
the  water  episode,  I  was  properly  ashamed  of  my 
self,  particularly  as  he  seemed  really  a  little  hurt, 
and  I  atoned  so  successfully  for  my  previous  indif 
ference  that  for  two  days  I  have  all  but  died  of 
the  consequences! 

Still,  I  occasionally  escape,  for  I  find  it  desirable 
to  spend  much  time  now  with  Berenice  and  Mr. 
Gaveston,  since  she  varies  her  moods  of  feverish 
gayety  by  spending  hours  absorbed  in  his  tales  of 
life  in  the  Orient  and  in  England,  where  his  people 
own  a  fine  old  manor,  of  which  he  has  beautiful 
photographs.  If  he  is  baiting  his  trap,  he  is  doing 
it  skilfully,  and  he  has  the  patience  of  an  experienced 
hunter.  I  have  never  surprised  him  in  a  look  or  a 
word  that  seemed  to  convey  any  desire  to  associate 
her  with  these  circumstances  of  his  life,  and  yet, 
slowly  and  with  diabolical  cunning  he  is  weaving 
around  that  girl  the  spell  of  older  civilizations,  of 
life  in  mellower  colors  than  any  she  has  known,  and 
of  the  mystery  and  glamour  of  the  East.  And  as  long 
as  we  are  on  this  little  ship  I  am  perfectly  powerless 
to  prevent  it.  All  I  can  do — and  I  do  it  unrelent 
ingly,  but  I  hope  tactfully — is  to  watch  them  con 
stantly  and  never  permit  them  five  minutes  alone 
together,  which,  I  must  admit,  seems  to  disturb 
neither  of  them  one  whit. 

If  young  Blakeney — my  only  solace  in  this  desert 
isle — has  noticed  the  drifting  of  straws,  he  has  not 
indicated  it  directly.  Once,  when  I  asked  him  why 

64 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

he  no  longer  played  poker  with  the  Englishmen,  he 
said  that  he  didn't  care  to  play  in  a  game  where  one 
man  always  "forgot"  to  ante  unless  he  was  re 
minded,  laughingly  adding  that  it  was  like  taking 
money  from  babies  anyway.  At  another  time,  I 
mentioned  that  Berenice  was  wealthy  in  her  own 
right,  apart  from  what  she  might  naturally  expect 
from  her  father,  to  which  he  replied  that  he  had 
inferred  as  much  from  something  Mr.  Gaveston  said 
while  we  were  in  Panama. 

Oh,  my  dear,  I  wish  I  were  well  out  of  this!  How 
ever,  we  are  in  the  last  port  before  Callao,  where  we 
should  arrive  to-morrow. 

Salaverry,  off  which  we  have  been  lying  for  hours, 
loading  sugar  and  pigs,  has  vigorous,  capable  boat 
men,  like  those  at  Eten,  and  is  set  against  black, 
craggy  hills  washed  high  with  yellow  sand. 

Here  comes  Uncle  Beverley,  evidently  with  some 
thing  on  his  mind.     I'll  finish  later. 
*  *  * 

Oh,  Marion!  Why  did  I  ever  undertake  this 
insane  journey?  I  don't  know  when  or  where  I 
sowed  the  wind,  but  certainly  I  am  reaping  the 
whirlwind. 

Many  years  ago  an  old  sea  captain  told  me  that 
if  I  ever  got  so  desperately  in  love  with  a  man  that 
I  couldn't  live  without  him,  and  all  other  methods 
failed,  I  must  coax  him  to  take  a  long  sea  voyage 
with  me.  He  said  the  man  would  inevitably  pro 
pose  then,  because  he'd  have  nothing  else  to  do — 
and  it  must  be  true.  I  see  no  other  reason  why 
Beverley  Ames  should  ask  me  to  marry  him,  and  that 

65 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

is  what  he  has  just  done.  Out  of  a  perfectly  clear 
sky!  It  never  occurred  to  me  as  the  remotest  of 
possibilities.  I  was  even  fatuously  congratulating 
myself  that  at  least  we  had  not  quarrelled. 

He  said,  among  other  undeserved  things,  that  he 
had  never  met  any  one  else  who  so  thoroughly 
understood  and  shared  the  one  great  interest  of  his 
life,  the  Civil  War!  He  spoke,  with  much  feeling, 
of  what  he  called  my  beautiful  attitude  toward  Ber 
enice.  And  now  he  has  gone  away  with  pain  in 
his  kindly  heart,  and  I  am  realizing  how  miserably 
— how  bitterly — I  have  bungled! 

And  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  If  I  go  on,  he  may 
take  it  as  encouragement,  in  spite  of  anything  I  say. 
In  any  event,  it  will  be  hard  for  him,  since  we  are 
inevitably  thrown  so  much  together.  I  can't  leave 
Berenice  down  here  alone  with  him.  And  if  I  take 
her  back  I  shall  not  be  keeping  faith  with  Helen. 

And  it's  all  my  fault — my  stupidity!  I  haven't 
touched  Berenice,  for  all  my  trying,  and  I  have 
hurt  a  good  man,  needlessly.  That's  the  bitter 
part  of  it. 

Lima,  Peru,  March  i2th. 

Lima,*  the  city  of  Pizarro!  And  life  is  still  worth 
while!  Mr.  Ames  has  resumed  his  fussy,  prosy 
manner,  quite  as  if  nothing  had  happened;  Mr. 
Gaveston  leaves  us  to-night;  Berenice,  as  yet,  flies 
no  storm-signals;  everything  here  is  interesting;  the 

*  Pronounced  Le6-ma 
66 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

sun  shines — and  I  am  still  vitally  conscious  of  it! 
After  all,  what  are  mistakes  for  but  to  profit  by? 

When  I  finished  my  last  letter  to  you — which  will 
probably  go  north  to-morrow  on  the  steamer  with 
this,  I  find  —  I  was  stunned  and  shocked  and  sick 
at  heart,  not  knowing  how  to  turn  next.  But  I  have 
decided  that,  when  all  is  told,  Berenice  is  the  person 
to  be  considered  first.  It  is  for  her  sake  that  we  are 
here,  and  for  her  sake  we  must  go  on,  as  wisely  as 
we  are  able,  hurting  each  other  as  little  as  possible, 
but  saving  her  from  herself,  if  we  can,  at  any  cost. 
I  am  sure  that  is  the  way  her  uncle  feels  about  it, 
and  I  shall  try  to  do  my  part  as  cheerfully  as  he  is 
doing  his. 

Few  men,  I  think,  particularly  at  his  age,  would 
accept  rejection  with  the  dignity  and  tact  that  he  has 
shown.  There  has  been  nothing  in  word  or  look 
— or  even  in  his  silence — to  show  that  he  has  suf 
fered  at  my  hands.  That  is  rather  fine,  Marion. 

When  it  came  to  the  last,  I  was  really  sorry  to 
leave  the  ship.  The  Captain  had  been  so  thoughtful, 
and  had  made  things  so  pleasant  for  us;  we  were 
so  comfortable  in  our  airy  state-room;  our  fellow- 
passengers,  for  all  their  oddities — and  I  dare  say  we 
entertained  them  quite  as  much  as  they  did  us — 
were  agreeable  on  the  whole,  and — well,  I  hated  to 
pack  up  and  leave.  However,  as  yet  we  have  not 
been  very  widely  separated,  as  all  the  English-speak 
ing  people  are  at  this  hotel — except,  of  course,  the 
Captain,  who  remains  on  the  ship  at  Callao.  He 
will  be  detained  there  several  days  unloading,  and 
most  of  the  men  are  planning  to  finish  their  business 

67 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

in  Lima  in  time  to  rejoin  the  ship  when  she  sails 
south  again.  Mr.  Ames  will  be  unable  to  get  away 
so  soon,  he  thinks,  and  Messrs.  Blakeney  and 
Gaveston,  both  of  whom  are  in  haste,  have  trans 
ferred  to  a  smaller  steamer  and  are  leaving  to-night, 
the  one  for  Iquique* — isn't  that  a  love  of  a  name  ?— 
and  the  other  for  Mollendo,t  the  port  for  Bolivia, 
whither  he  is  bound  and  where  I  devoutly  hope  he 
will  stick  until  we  have  put  the  width  of  the  con 
tinent  and  the  wall  of  the  Andes  between  Berenice 
and  him! 

I  am  evidently  compounded  of  suspicion,  malice 
and  all  uncharitableness,  for  the  man  has  given 
no  indication  that  he  has  designs  upon  her,  except 
— really,  I  don't  know  what.  Do  you  remember 
when  you  played  Suzanne  in  A  Scrap  of  Paper,  and 
went  around  for  months  afterward  talking  about 
your  antennae  ?  Well,  either  my  antenna  have  neu 
rasthenia  or  there's  a  nigger  in  this  woodpile  some 
where!  One  of  these  days  he'll  show  his  head,  and 
then  I  intend  to  whack  him! 

You've  seen  the  little  mechanical  scenes  in  shop- 
windows,  where  an  old  cardboard  man  sits  at  a 
cardboard  table,  with  a  shoe  in  his  hand,  forever 
making  futile  clockwork  slaps  at  a  clockwork  rat 
that  runs  in  and  out?  That's  the  way  you  may 
picture  me  for  the  next  few  months,  skirting  South 
America  on  the  edge  of  my  chair,  with  my  slipper 
in  my  hand,  shooing  away  the  rodents  that  come  to 
nibble  at  Helen's  cheese. 

*  Pronounced  Ee-kee-kay. 
t  Pronounced  Mohl-yen'-do. 
68 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

I'm  not  run  by  clockwork,  either,  though  it  is 
possible  that  I'd  be  quite  as  effective  if  I  were. 
Certainly,  there's  small  justification  for  throwing 
shoes  at  a  harmless,  necessary  Englishman  simply 
because  he  happens  to  be  around.  I  wish  the  creat 
ure  would  make  a  move  of  some  sort — but  he  doesn't. 
So  here  we  sit  watching  each  other,  I  with  upraised 
slipper  in  hand,  and  he  safely  inside  his  hole,  twink 
ling  bright,  sardonic  little  eyes  at  me.  And  all  the 
time  I  have  a  harrowing  conviction  that  in  the  end 
he  will  outwit  me  and  get  the  cheese. 

Meanwhile,  we  are  in  Lima!  The  approach  to 
Callao,  on  a  brilliant  day,  was  beautiful.  For  hours 
before  we  got  in,  the  waters  were  covered  with  birds, 
many  pelicans  and  gulls  among  them.  Then  we 
began  to  notice  queer,  purplish  spots  on  the  wa 
ter,  which,  as  we  neared  them,  were  seen  to  ripple 
strangely.  When  we  finally  entered  one,  we  found 
that  they  were  caused  by  schools  of  tiny  green 
fish — millions  upon  millions  of  'em! — swimming  so 
close  to  the  surface  that  they  must  have  poked  their 
sharp  little  noses  out  into  the  ether  occasionally. 

Just  before  we  entered  the  harbor,  we  saw  an 
enormous  school  of  porpoise,  so  many  that  the  sea 
actually  foamed  with  them,  and  incredibly  active, 
doing  all  sorts  of  exciting  acrobatic  stunts  in  the 
air — only  there  were  so  many  of  them  that  it  was 
like  watching  a  three-ring  circus!  I  don't  know  why 
they  call  them  sea-pigs.  Sea-kittens  would  be  much 
nearer  the  mark,  I  think. 

And  everywhere  were  birds — thousands  and  thou 
sands  of  birds! 

69 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

To  the  left,  on  the  mainland,  we  passed  a  splendid 
mountain  of  dark,  rugged  rock,  with  a  cloud-swept 
top  and  the  most  lovely  yellow  sand  flung  far  up 
against  its  base,  all  splotched  with  purple  shadows, 
while  between  sparkled  the  blue-green  foreground 
of  waves.  To  the  right  were  islands — barren,  moun 
tainous,  tawny.  It  was  all  very  wonderful  color, 
and  I  said  as  much  to  Mr.  Gaveston,  who  admitted 
the  color  but  deplored  the  lack  of  verdure.  "  Now, 
in  England,  you  know — "  To  be  sure!  Why  not 
hold  up  England's  plushy  lawns  as  a  standard  for  a 
country  where  if  it  rains  once  in  twenty-five  years 
it  is  considered  a  wet  century!  Como  no? — as  they 
say  down  here. 

From  quite  a  distance  we  could  see  the  town  of 
Callao — low,  flat-roofed,  pale,  like  all  Spanish  towns 
— and  six  or  eight  miles  away,  and  some  five  hun 
dred  feet  higher,  lay  Lima,  her  Cathedral  towers  like 
fingers  beckoning  in  the  sun.  A  green  line  down 
through  the  lion-tinted  plain  marked  the  course  of 
the  River  Rimac,  and  back  of  it  all  rose  the  first 
ramparts  of  the  Cordillera — the  Andean  foothills. 

It  was  fun  to  see  the  small  boats  skim  out  to  us, 
scores  of  them,  like  a  lot  of  the  spidery  things  that 
run  about  on  the  surface  of  ponds  and  other  quiet 
waters  at  home.  As  the  steamer  carries,  in  addition 
to  the  regular  ship's  doctor,  a  physician  in  the  em 
ploy  of  the  Peruvian  government,  whose  sole  duty 
it  is  to  watch  and  report  on  the  health  of  the  passen 
gers,  there  was  no  medical  examination.  The  sheep 
were  separated  from  the  goats,  the  Guayaquil  pas 
sengers — including  the  American,  Jones,  who  went 

70 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

ashore  there — were  ordered  into  quarantine,  and  the 
rest  of  us  were  at  liberty  to  land. 

Meanwhile,  we  had  been  surrounded  by  the  fleet 
of  small  boats,  and  fleteros  were  everywhere,  solicit 
ing — yea,  demanding — patronage.  Presently  came 
Domingo,  the  smooth,  affable  pirate  representing 
this  very  good  hotel,  looking  for  us,  and  into  his 
hands  we  delivered  ourselves  —  horse,  foot  and 
dragoons.  Soon  thereafter  we  breathlessly  watched 
our  luggage — big  trunks,  little  trunks,  hold-all,  hat- 
boxes,  suit-cases  and  chairs — one  by  one  attached  to 
the  end  of  a  very  slender  rope  and  lowered  over  the 
side  into  a  tippy  rowboat. 

Then  we  said  "hasta  luego"  to  the  Captain,  who 
promises  to  dine  with  us  before  he  departs,  and 
pushed  our  way  to  the  ladder. 

I  wish  I  could  make  you  see — and  feel — the  scene 
there!  The  jam  of  boats,  the  clamor  of  Latin 
syllables,  the  shouting  and  gesticulation  and  excite 
ment!  The  ladder  was  crowded,  three  people  to 
every  two  steps  at  least,  mostly  South  Americans 
carrying  parrots,  babies,  bunches  of  bananas, 
nondescript  parcels  of  all  sizes  and  quantities  of 
ordinary  hand  luggage;  and  below  was  a  mass  of 
boats,  each  struggling  to  win  or  to  keep  a  place  at 
the  foot  of  the  ladder.  Up  and  down,  from  the  boats 
to  the  deck  and  back  again,  fleteros  and  stewards 
elbowed  their  way.  Now  and  then  some  excited 
person  near  the  bottom  discovered  that  a  box  or  a 
cage  or  a  baby  had  been  left  behind  and  pande 
monium  ensued,  everybody  lending  a  voice  as  well 
as  a  hand  to  the  bereaved  one. 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

The  sun  blazed,  everybody  pushed  and  shouted, 
and  now  and  again  the  man  at  the  foot  of  the 
ladder,  whoever  he  might  be,  got  a  footbath  as  the 
ship  bowed  to  the  long  Pacific  swells  rolling  in. 
Eventually  we  reached  the  bottom  ourselves,  Mr. 
Ames  got  his  feet  wet,  we  scrambled  over  three  or 
four  intervening  boats  to  the  one  that  held  our 
luggage — and  soon  we  were  ashore. 

Mr.  Ames'  agent  met  us  at  the  dock,  and  it  may 
have  been  due  to  his  influence  that  we  passed  the 
customs  so  easily.  They  did  not  even  open  our 
trunks,  while  young  Leibnitz,  who  was  next  to  us, 
had  to  submit  to  a  very  thorough  overhauling, 
much  to  his  disgust. 

We  came  up  by  trolley,  a  short  ride,  and  found 
what  I  think  would  be  best  described  as  a  palatial 
suite  awaiting  us.  Berenice  and  I  have  a  huge 
sala — Mr.  Ames  has  been  tucked  away  in  some  othor 
corner  of  the  hotel — much  bemirrored  and  beplush- 
ed  and  besofaed,  with  two  bedrooms  and  a  balcony 
— one  of  the  curious,  cage-like  balconies  that  are  the 
most  salient  feature  of  Peruvian  architecture. 

They  are  quite  apart  from  the  room,  being  sep 
arated  from  it  by  a  wall  and  entered  by  a  door; 
they  overhang  the  street,  like  any  balcony,  and  yet 
are  quite  enclosed,  the  upper  part  being  entirely 
of  windows  which  may  be  opened  or  shut  at  will. 
Sometimes  they  are  very  beautifully  ornamented 
or  carved  on  the  outside,  and  from  the  street  re 
semble  nothing  I  have  seen  so  much  as  the  women's 
galleries  in  pictures  of  certain  Oriental  houses. 
At  all  times  of  day,  but  especially  in  the  late  after- 

72 


Copyright,  IQOQ,  by  Underwood  &  Underwood,  N.  V. 

CARVED     BALCONIES     OF     SOLID     MAHOGANY 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

noon,  the  youth  and  beauty  of  Lima — past  and 
present — may  be  seen  frankly  hanging  in  these 
windows,  the  cushioned  sills  of  which  are  just  high 
enough  to  support  the  elbows  comfortably,  watching 
the  world  wag  by,  or  coquettishly  peeping  from 
behind  the  Venetian  blinds  with  which  most  of  them 
are  furnished. 

I  admit  I  do  my  full  share  of  hanging,  as  our  win 
dows  overlook  a  busy  and  a  noisy  street,  every  sight 
and  sound  of  which  attracts  me,  from  the  sweet 
whistle  of  the  policeman  on  this  corner,  who  musi 
cally  communicates  all  sorts  of  information  to  his 
comrades  a  block  or  so  in  either  direction,  to  the 
calls  of  the  street  venders  or  the  fanfare  of  trumpets 
as  the  President  whirls  by  in  a  gorgeous  red-and- 
gold  coach,  drawn  by  six  plumed  horses,  attended  by 
liveried  men  in  silk  stockings  and  cocked  hats,  and 
followed  by  a  guard  of  lancers,  pennants  flying  and 
accoutrements  a-jingle. 

The  only  other  especially  striking  thing  I  have 
discovered  in  the  architecture  is  the  flat  mud  roofs, 
made  possible  by  the  fact  that  it  never  rains,  pro 
tection  from  the  sun  being  consequently  all  that  is 
needed.  Despite  the  fact  that  no  rain  falls,  how 
ever,  there  are  mists  and  heavy  dews,  and  we  are 
told  that  residents  here  sometimes  have  difficulty 
in  keeping  their  apparel  from  mildewing  overnight. 

Yesterday,  as  Mr.  Ames  was  busy  with  his  agents, 
Mr.  Blakeney  and  Mr.  Gaveston  invited  us  to  go 
about  the  city  with  them  to  see  some  of  the  churches 
and  so  on.  First  we  went  to  the  Cathedral,  which 
Mr.  Blakeney  and  I  thought  fine  in  some  ways  and 

73 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

very  interesting,  but  Mr.  Gaveston  told  us  it  was 
tawdry.  He  said  that  of  course  this  cathedral  had 
no  real  antiquity — a  mere  three  or  four  hundred 
years — very  modern,  compared  with  the  cathedrals 
of  Europe,  and  tawdry,  really  very  tawdry.  Then 
he  told  Berenice  about  the  Convento  dos  Jeronymos 
in  Lisbon,  and  its  wonderful,  ivory-like  carvings. 

From  there  we  went  to  the  Church  of  Santo  Do 
mingo,  where  were  some  strange  old  tiles,  laboriously 
wrought  by  hand,  grotesque  and  quaint.  Berenice 
found  these  tawdry.  She  also  called  our  attention 
to  the  tawdry  paper  flowers  on  the  altars,  the  tawdry 
images,  and  the  tawdry  color.  Mr.  Gaveston  then 
described  to  her  a  mosque  at  Ahmedabad,  or  some 
such  place. 

We  went  next  to  the  old  Palace  of  the  Inquisition, 
now  the  Senate,  and  into  a  stately  chamber  with 
carved  ceiling  and  doors,  apparently  oak,  but  black 
with  age.  Mr.  Gaveston  admitted  that  this  was 
rather  nice — yes,  really,  not  bad — and  immediately 
fell  to  explaining  to  Berenice  the  theory  of  some 
electrical  contrivance  he  found  there.  When  Mr. 
Blakeney  said  that  countrymen  of  ours  had  been 
strung  up  by  their  thumbs  in  that  very  room,  Mr. 
Gaveston  observed,  with  amused  tolerance: 

"  You  do  not  belong  to  the  older  civilization,  Mrs. 
Pomeroy."  I  admitted  the  impeachment.  "Ah, 
yes!  Of  course,  this  is  rather  nice,  but  we  have 
Westminster  Hall,  you  know,  a  tho-u-sand  yeahs 
old." 

We  withdrew  from  the  carven  chamber.  But  as 
we  went  Berenice  seized  the  opportunity  to  men- 

74 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

tion  that  the  door  was  really  very  thin.     Oh,  he 
has  done  his  work  well ! 

On  the  way  back  to  the  hotel,  Mr.  Blakeney  re 
membered  that  the  bones  of  the  great  Conquista 
dor  who  founded  Lima  were  in  the  Cathedral,  and 
we  stopped  there  again  to  visit  them.  We  found 
Messrs.  Tomlinson  and  Leibnitz  there  ahead  of  us, 
and  together  we  viewed  the  crumbling  skeleton  of 
the  mighty  Spaniard,  majestic  even  in  its  decay 
because  of  the  dauntless  spirit  it  had  housed. 

My  dear,  then  and  there,  in  the  very  presence  of 
that  historic  pile  of  bones,  that  Tomlinson  man, 
after  a  little  quiet  talk  with  Mr.  Gaveston,  actually 
approached  the  sacristan  in  an  attempt  to  buy  one 
of  Pizarro's  feet  as  a  souvenir,  and  on  being  refused, 
returned  to  inquire  what  they  would  ask  for  a  toe! 
Kindly  note  that  this  was  not  an  American  tourist! 

He  was  not  only  disappointed  that  the  offer  was 
not  accepted,  but  was  inclined  to  resent  as  offensive 
the  vehemence  of  its  rejection.  And  Mr.  Gaveston, 
instead  of  blushing  for  his  compatriot,  laughed  about 
the  affair.  Indeed,  I  suspect  that  the  initial  con 
ception  was  his,  as  Tomlinson,  who  admires  him  in 
ordinately  and  is  flattered  by  his  attention,  would 
do  any  idiotic  thing  he  suggested. 

Marion,  I  tell  you  there  is  something  wrong  about 
that  man  Gaveston.  He  is  clever,  and  his  family 
may  trace  itself  back  to  the  Normans — or  to  Shem, 
Ham  and  Japheth,  for  all  I  know — but  he  is  not  an 
English  gentleman.  What's  the  use  of  getting  ex 
cited  about  him,  though?  Thank  Heaven,  we  see 
the  last  of  him  to-night ! 

7S 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

We  came  out  into  the  plaza  to  find  an  exquisite, 
mellow,  sunset  light  bathing  it  in  magic,  deepening 
the  shadows  under  the  arcades  and  softening  the 
creamy  tone  of  the  towered  Cathedral. 

Oh,  it's  good  to  be  alive  in  this  most  beautiful 
and  fascinating  old  world!  Life  is  so  wonderful  it 
can't  go  wrong,  and  I  know  the  tide  must  turn  here! 
Berenice  must  feel  all  this  beauty  and  warmth  and 
love,  and  once  this  man  has  gone  out  of  her  life,  I 
am  sure  all  will  be  well  with  us! 


Lima,  March  igth. 

Mail!  Mail!  The  first  we  have  had  since  leav 
ing  home  more  than  a  month  ago.  Among  my 
letters  was  the  note  from  you,  written  the  day  we 
sailed,  urging  me  to  read  Howells'  latest,  and  not  to 
miss  The  Great  Divide,  if  it  was  still  running  in  New 
York. 

I  wonder  whether  you  can  understand  the  curious 
impression  this  has  made  on  me  ?  It  seems  to  come 
from  even  a  greater  distance  spiritually  than  it  does 
physically.  What  have  I,  who  have  seen  the  Culebra 
Cut,  to  do  with  pale,  printed  romance?  What  does 
our  modern,  psychological  hair-splitting  hold  for  me, 
who  have  watched  day  by  day  the  plague-stricken 
city  of  Guayaquil,  communed  with  the  bones  of 
Pizarro,  and  crossed  a  greater  Divide  than  ever  the 
Rockies  made,  the  line  between  the  two  Americas? 

My  trunk  is  full  of  new  books  that  I  cannot  read, 
my  portfolio  of  letters  that  I  cannot  answer.  Per- 

76 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

haps,  when  I  have  returned  to  my  own  world  again, 
the  things  that  constitute  it  will  resume  their  old 
positions — perhaps,  but  I  am  not  sure.  I  don't 
know  just  what  is  happening  to  me  down  here,  but 
whatever  it  is,  it  has  begun.  I  know  I  am  going 
toward  a  great  change  of  some  sort,  but  I  am  no 
longer  afraid.  I  am  simply  deeply  curious.  "  What 
time,  what  circuit  first,  I  ask  not.  ...  I  shall  arrive." 

In  the  mean  time  I  have  more  hope  for  the  im 
mediate  future — and  for  Berenice — since  Mr.  Gave- 
ston  has  gone.  I  kept  very  closely  beside  her  that 
last  day,  but  he  made  no  attempt  to  see  her  alone. 
Nevertheless,  something  in  his  manner — an  added 
deference,  perhaps,  artistically  tinged  with  melan 
choly — was  almost  a  declaration  in  itself,  and  one 
that,  at  her  age,  would  have  impressed  me  far  more 
deeply  than  any  words.  When  he  told  her  good-bye, 
he  held  her  hand  for  a  fraction  of  a  second  longer 
than  he  did  mine,  and  said : 

"We  shall  meet  again  somewhere.  People  don't 
touch  to  part  like  this,  you  know.  We  shall  surely 
meet  again." 

Perhaps  they  will,  but  I  hope  it  will  be  after  I  have 
returned  Berenice  safely  to  the  parental  coop.  If 
Helen  and  Dick  choose  to  let  hawks  into  that  en 
closure,  I  can't  help  it,  but  since  Uncle  Beverley  ap 
parently  does  not  recognize  a  bird  of  prey  when  he 
sees  it,  I  have  felt  in  duty  bound  to  do  what  I  could 
to  save  the  chicken,  even  though  that  was  no  part  of 
my  undertaking  in  the  first  place.  And  I  think  I 
have  succeeded. 

Anyway,  Mr.  Gaveston  has  gone  to  Bolivia,  and  I 

77 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

breathe  freely  again — except  that  I  do  not  yet  under 
stand  his  game.  Why  didn't  he  press  his  advantage 
— for  he  certainly  had  it — to  its  logical  conclusion? 
Bother  the  man!  I  wonder  whether,  after  all,  I 
have  been  unjust  to  him,  and  whether  he  was  only 
casually  entertained  by  a  pretty  girl,  whose  interest 
in  the  things  he  could  tell  served  to  vary  the  mo 
notony  of  a  long  voyage?  Quien  sabe?  Anyway, 
he  has  gone. 

So,  alas,  has  Shafter  Blakeney.  He  was  delight 
ful  to  the  end,  and  I  hated  to  lose  him,  but  we  shall 
see  him  again,  either  in  Iquique,  where  he  will  make 
a  short  visit,  or  in  Santiago,  his  home.  Berenice's 
attitude  toward  him  has  puzzled  me,  and  her  parting 
with  him  did  not  lessen  my  bewilderment.  She  said 
good-bye  to  him  lightly  enough,  with  some  jest  about 
our  next  meeting,  and  while  I  saw  that  she  was 
nervous,  I  attributed  it  wholly  to  the  approaching 
departure  of  Gaveston.  Then,  when  Blakeney  was 
about  to  leave  us,  she  called  to  him,  as  if  through  a 
casual  after-thought,  but  with  a  hard  little  under 
tone  in  her  voice: 

"  When  you  write  to  Perry  Waite,  don't  forget 
to  tell  him  what  jolly  times  we've  all  had  to 
gether." 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  alluded  to  her  lover 
or  to  the  relationship  between  the  boys — I  know, 
because  Shafter  told  me  only  that  morning  that  she 
had  never  in  any  way  indicated  to  him  that  she  even 
knew  his  cousin — and  he  would  have  stopped  to  speak 
to  her,  but  she  was  already  chattering  gayly  to 
Gaveston,  apparently  without  a  thought  for  any- 

78 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

body  else,  so  Shafter  just  looked  at  her  for  a  moment, 
rather  curiously,  and  went  away. 

I  admit  this  baffles  me  completely.  If  she  had 
quarrelled  with  young  Waite,  it  would  be  simple 
enough,  of  course.  Then  I  should  understand  that, 
while  her  woman's  pride  had  kept  her  silent  con 
cerning  him  thus  far,  the  impatient  youth  in  her 
couldn't  resist  the  temptation  to  insure  his  hearing 
that  he  was  in  nowise  essential  to  her  happiness  and 
that  she  had  been  having  a  beautiful  time  with 
another  man.  This  would  also  explain,  in  part,  at 
least,  her  disturbance  when  Blakeney's  identity 
was  revealed,  and  her  subsequent  efforts  to  convince 
him,  and  through  him  his  cousin,  that  she  was  en 
tirely  happy. 

As  I  look  back  I  can  see  that  ever  since  that  night 
on  the  river  his  appearance  on  the  scene  has  always 
been  the  signal  for  her  spirits  to  rise — sometimes  to 
wild  heights. 

Thus  far  it  all  hangs  together  beautifully.  But 
if  she  has  quarrelled  with  the  Waite  boy,  why  are 
we  here  ?  If  the  affair  had  already  been  broken  off, 
why  was  it  necessary  for  us  to  separate  them  so 
widely?  Why  did  she  passionately  declare,  three 
days  before  we  sailed,  that  they  might  send  her  to 
the  South  Pole,  or  into  the  heart  of  the  desert,  or 
shut  her  up  in  a  convent,  but  that  in  the  end  she 
would  run  away  and  marry  Perry  Waite?  I  know 
that  she  has  not  seen  him  since  that,  and  if  she  has 
even  heard  from  him  it  was  skilfully  managed,  for 
her  every  movement  was  watched  those  last  days. 
I  give  it  up!  It  passes  my  understanding — and  I 
6  79 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

have  rather  prided  myself  upon  my  knowledge  of 
girls  and  their  hearts,  too.  I  fear  I  can  never  again 
lay  that  flattering  unction  to  my  soul.  This  ex 
perience  is  taking  the  conceit  out  of  me,  if  it  is  ac 
complishing  nothing  else. 

One  other  thing  it  is  accomplishing,  however.  It 
is  bringing  a  breath  of  home  air  to  the  American 
exiles  down  here — and  it  is  pathetic  to  see  how 
eagerly  they  sniff  it!  We  have  met  several  of  them 
now,  very  pleasant  and  attractive  people,  and  so  cord 
ial  in  their  attitude  toward  us!  To  be  sure,  every 
body  is  worn  out,  physically  and  mentally,  after  the 
exertion  and  excitement  of  entertaining  the  fleet, 
which  left  here  about  a  week  before  we  arrived.  But 
they  are  still  glowing  with  enthusiasm  and  pride 
in  the  vessels  and  the  men,  and  in  the  impression 
both  made  upon  the  people  of  Peru,  as  well  as  in 
the  wonderful  reception  given  by  the  Peruvians  to 
the  sailors.  They  all  seem  to  feel  that  the  visit  did 
incalculable  good,  and  certainly  they  are  in  a  much 
better  position  to  know  than  some  of  the  people 
at  home  who  made  such  a  fuss  about  this  naval 
expedition. 

It  has  interested  me  to  see  that  apparently  they 
have  almost  as  much  pride  in  the  splendid  manner 
of  Peru's  entertainment  as  in  the  conduct  of  our  own 
men.  They  have  all  assured  me,  at  different  times, 
that  Peruvians  are  the  aristocrats  of  South  America, 
and  that  while  they  are  now  very  poor,  they  have 
once  been  rich  and  "know  how  money  should  be 
spent."  They  say  that  the  people  here  are  still  so 
hospitable  and  so  proud  that  they  will  deny  them- 

80 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

selves  absolute  necessities  in  order  to  entertain  vis 
itors  according  to  their  traditions. 

That  this  spirit  is  not  limited  to  the  aristocracy 
is  illustrated  by  a  pretty  story  about  the  Lima 
police,  who,  because  the  country  has  been  im 
poverished  by  wars  and  losses,  are  very  poorly  paid. 
When  the  fleet  was  here,  these  men  were  offered 
two  pounds  each  for  every  American  sailor  outstay 
ing  his  shore-leave  whom  they  returned  to  his  ship. 
Now,  two  pounds  is  a  large  sum  down  here,  but 
when  these  little  policemen  found  that  the  amount 
was  deducted  from  the  sailors'  pay,  they  still  returned 
Jack  to  his  ship,  if  he  was  too  befuddled  to  get  there 
on  time  himself,  but  they  steadfastly  refused  to  ac 
cept  the  money.  Do  you  seem  to  see  anything  like 
this  happening  in  one  of  our  large  cities? 

But — to  return  to  the  Americans  resident  here — 
while  the  thousands  of  fellow-countrymen  in  the 
fleet  ministered  to  their  patriotism  and  pride  and 
love  of  kind,  we  are  more  recently  from  home  and 
bring  closer  touch.  So  it  is  that  as  soon  as  the 
formalities  of  introduction  are  over  and  the  first 
tentative  soundings  have  been  taken,  somebody  asks 
a  question,  generally  about  New  York,  and  a  hun 
dred  follow — such  significant,  pathetic,  trivial,  home 
sick  questions,  Marion! 

Who  is  playing  at  the  Empire?  What  is  Drew 
doing?  Do  the  forty  -  five  -  story  skyscrapers  look 
as  tall  as  they  are?  Has  the  Museum  any  new 
treasures?  Is  this  or  that  familiar  restaurant  as 
good  as  ever  ?  Who  painted  the  picture  of  the  year  ? 
Who  is  in  Tiffany's  old  place?  Is  it  true  that  all 

81 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Twenty-third  Street  is  moving  up  to  Thirty-fourth  ? 
Have  the  ancient  horse -busses  really  been  taken 
off  the  Avenue?  All  these  and  more,  and  every 
American  within  hearing  distance  pushes  thirstily 
near,  not  to  lose  one  insignificant,  precious  drop. 
Positively,  I  almost  wept  the  first  time  this  hap 
pened. 

And  always,  first  and  most  eager  of  all,  came  the 
query:  "How  does  the  canal  look  now?"  It  is  in 
the  canal  that  all  hopes  are  centred.  The  canal 
will  put  them  in  touch  with  Home.  The  canal  will 
encourage  freer  communication  and  better  under 
standing  between  the  two  countries.  The  canal  will 
bring  American  people  and  American  manufactures. 
The  canal  will  introduce  modern  business  methods 
and  direct  steamers.  How  about  the  canal? 

Direct  steamers  and  better  dock  facilities  they 
certainly  need.  It  seems  that  there  are  docks  at 
Callao,  but  they  are  so  small  and  so  busy  that 
vessels  have  to  wait  their  turn  to  discharge  their 
cargoes,  or  else  depend  upon  the  lanchas,  of  which 
there  are  not  very  many.  Just  now  there  is  a  strike 
down  there,  which  complicates  matters. 

Our  nice  Captain,  whose  ship  is  still  in  port,  dined 
with  us  last  night.  He  says  that  a  steamer  of  the 
other  line,  which  followed  about  a  week  behind  us 
down  the  coast,  arrived  a  day  or  two  ago — she 
brought  the  mail — and  found  that  she  would  have 
to  wait  so  long  for  either  dock-room  or  lanchas  that 
she  sailed  south  to-day,  still  carrying  her  Callao 
freight,  hundreds  of  tons  of  it,  which  will  be  returned 
from  Mollendo  at  the  expense  of  the  consignee. 

82 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

In  this  connection,  an  American  importer  here 
told  us  of  having  goods  that  he  greatly  needed  kept 
for  weeks  in  the  bottom  of  a  lancha  at  Callao. 
Several  times  the  men  unloaded  until  his  things 
were  in  sight.  Then  another  ship  came  in,  the  boat 
was  taken  out  and  filled  up,  and  again  his  stuff  was 
buried  deep.  He  had  no  resource  and  no  redress. 
He  simply  had  to  wait. 

The  American  Minister,  Mr.  Blinn,  called  the 
other  day,  after  Mr.  Ames  had  presented  his  cre 
dentials,  and  oh,  my  dear,  that  was  an  experience! 

Uncle  Beverley  was  out,  and  Berenice  was  asleep, 
when  a  much-agitated  servant  appeared  at  the  door, 
uttering  strange  syllables  which,  after  several  rep 
etitions,  I  construed  as  having  something  to  do  with 
"el  Ministro  Americano." 

"Muy  bien,"  said  I,  and  then,  at  the  end  of  my 
Spanish,  waved  my  hand  in  what  I  flattered  myself 
was  an  eloquent  and  illuminating  gesture,  signifying 
my  desire  that  the  gentleman  should  be  conducted 
to  our  apartment. 

"Si,  sefiora,"  replied  the  man,  and  went  away — 
and  nothing  happened. 

After  a  while  I  went  to  the  door  to  see  what  had 
become  of  him,  and  discovered,  across  the  patio,  a 
white-haired  man  wearing  American  clothes  and 
looking  in  my  direction.  When  I  appeared  in  the 
doorway,  he  approached,  bearing  his  own  cards,  and 
after  regarding  each  other  a  little  doubtfully  for  a 
moment,  we  both  laughed,  and  he  said : 

"I'm  Mr.  Blinn." 

We  were  having  a  very  good  time — at  least,  I  was 

83 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

— when  I  noticed  three  or  four  agitated  servitors 
hovering  outside  the  door.  Finally  one  of  them 
entered,  put  his  heels  together,  bowed  several  times 
very  rapidly,  and  emitted  more  incomprehensible 
syllables.  Mr.  Blinn,  at  my  request,  translated. 
The  man  asked  if  I  would  like  a  refresco. 

Thinks  I  to  myself,  this  is  a  delicate  way  of  re 
minding  me  of  my  duties  as  a  hostess.  I  had  not 
suggested  tea,  because  it  was  a  little  early,  and  be 
cause  I  was  rather  waiting  for  Mr.  Ames,  who  was 
due  to  arrive  at  any  moment.  But  now  I  perceived 
that  when  Ministers  Plenipotentiary  and  Envoys 
Extraordinary  call  upon  one  in  this  country,  re- 
frescos  are  the  rule,  so  I  said  "Si,"  and  the  man 
darted  out. 

Presently,  in  the  middle  of  a  very  good  story  Mr. 
Blinn  was  telling,  he  dodged  in  again.  Again  the 
Minister  acted  as  interpreter.  What  refresco  would 
I  like?  I  had  thought,  from  the  man's  momentous 
manner,  that  there  might  be  some  especial  bever 
age  reserved  for  the  mighty,  which  he  would  serve 
without  further  direction,  but  now,  fairly  put  to  it, 
I  asked  Mr.  Blinn  what  I  might  order  for  him. 
He  explained  that  he  never  took  anything  in  the 
afternoon,  not  even  tea,  so  I  told  the  man  in  English 
to  go  away.  He  held  his  ground,  however,  and  chat 
tered,  and  I  finally  ordered  a  "refresco  de  limon"  to 
get  rid  of  him. 

Before  he  brought  it,  Mr.  Blinn  took  his  depart 
ure,  while  I  explained  at  length  how  very  sorry  Mr. 
Ames  and  Berenice  would  be  to  find  they  had  missed 
his  call,  and  assured  him  again  that  Mr.  Ames  must 

84 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

arrive  within  a  few  minutes.  He  decided  not  to 
wait,  and  the  man  bringing  the  refresco  passed  him 
in  the  corridor. 

I  sat  down  to  write  letters  and  sip  my  lemonade, 
and  half  an  hour  later  Mr.  Ames  came  in,  saying  he 
hoped  I  had  enjoyed  my  refresco,  and  why  didn't 
Berenice  take  one?  I  asked  him  what  he  knew 
about  it,  anyway,  and  he  inquired  with  amusement: 

"Who  do  you  think  ordered  that  refresco?" 

My  dear,  he  had  been  sitting  in  the  patio  below 
for  an  hour,  talking  business  with  somebody.  He 
must  have  been  there  even  when  Mr.  Blinn  came  in, 
and  now  I  am  wondering  whether  Mr.  Blinn  saw  him 
there,  after  all  my  regrets  that  he  was  out,  and  what 
that  humble  servitor  said  about  the  sefior  down 
stairs  who  had  ordered  the  refresco  for  the  senora. 

This  travelling  in  a  country  when  you  know  prac 
tically  nothing  of  its  language  is  not  all  cakes  and 
ale!  Nor  yet  all  refrescos,  which,  by-the-way,  are 
delicious  hot- weather  drinks  made  of  fruit  juice  and 
water.  Lemonade  is  the  only  one  we  know  much 
about  at  home  (down  here,  if  one  orders  lemonade, 
they  bring  a  horrid,  bottled,  fizzy  kind  of  a  com 
pound,  as  they  do  in  England),  but  refrescos  are  also 
made  from  almost  any  tart  fruit,  notably  from 
oranges  or  tamarinds  or  a  delicious  tropical  thing 
called  a  grenadilla. 

We  are  told  that  Peruvians  are  very  friendly  to 
Americans,  and  that  many  of  the  boys  are  sent  to 
the  United  States  to  attend  college,  which  may  ac 
count  for  the  numbers  of  young  men  one  sees  in 
the  streets  wearing  Panama  hats  pulled  down  over 

85 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

their  eyes  in  the  American  fashion.  There  is  even 
a  glee  club  here  now,  composed  entirely  of  Peruvian 
Cornell  students.  Nevertheless,  the  American  colo 
ny  in  Lima  is  small,  while  English  and  Germans  are 
numerous. 

The  last  day  Mr.  Gaveston  was  here  he  asked  us 
to  go  with  him  to  a  tournament  at  the  tennis  club, 
and  though  I  believe  there  are  American  members, 
we  met  that  day  only  pleasant  English  people. 
The  courts  are  in  a  very  beautiful  park,  filled  with 
splendid,  tall,  stately  trees  and  many  vines  and 
flowering  shrubs — honeysuckle,  oleander,  hibiscus, 
and  others  less  familiar.  I  was  glad  to  see  some 
big  trees  and  flowers,  for  Lima  does  impress  the 
stranger  from  the  North  as  being  rather  parched. 
There  is  every  reason  why  it  should,  since  it  never 
rains,  but  still  —  that  makes  these  fine  trees  the 
more  wonderful. 

As  in  other  Spanish-American  cities,  the  principal 
amusement  of  the  better  classes  is  driving;  but  as 
the  roads  in  the  country  are  pretty  bad  and  the 
city  streets  not  much  better,  people  are  practically 
limited  to  a  course  from  the  plaza  where  the  Cathe 
dral  is,  through  the  principal  shopping  streets,  to  a 
little  boulevard  kind  of  place  called  the  Paseo  Colon. 

Here  they  form  the  inevitable  Spanish  endless 
chain  of  carriages,  and  drive  around  and  around  a 
strip  of  parched,  dusty  palms,  geraniums,  and 
shrubs,  midway  of  which  is  a  band-stand,  where 
assemble,  twice  a  week,  thirty  white-uniformed 
men,  with  thirty  kinds  of  musical  instruments.  I 
didn't  know  there  were  so  many  different  brass 

86 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

things  out  of  which  men  could  blow  sound.  Each 
of  the  thirty  was  tuned  to  a  pitch  just  a  little  dif 
ferent  from  the  other  twenty-nine,  and  after  one 
man  had  started  them  all  off  together,  every  fellow 
played  along  as  his  own  inclination  prompted. 
When  one  of  them  found  something  in  his  score  that 
especially  pleased  him,  he  "brought  it  out."  Other 
wise,  as  the  South  American  temperament  is  not, 
under  ordinary  circumstances,  strenuous,  they  all 
struck  an  easy  gait  and  finished  neck  and  neck. 

Berenice  and  I  discovered  this  musical  organiza 
tion  while  driving  one  day,  and  when  I  told  Mr. 
Ames  about  it  at  dinner  that  night  he  observed, 
in  his  deliberate  way : 

"That  is  what — you  might  call — the  apoth-eo-sis 
of  de-cen-tral-iza-tion ! ' ' 

There  are  times,  Marion,  when  Uncle  Beverley  is 
not  so  slow!  If  he  would  only  discover  that  a  few 
things  have  happened  since  'sixty-four! 

However,  while  this  band  was  funny,  it  wasn't 
any  worse  than  some  I've  heard  at  home,  and  we 
are  told  that  the  Peruvians,  as  a  people,  are  in 
clined  to  be  musical.  Some  one  expressed  it  very 
aptly  the  other  day  when  he  said  that,  whereas 
Americans  are  educated,  Peruvians  are  cultivated. 
They  all  speak  French,  at  least,  and  sometimes 
German  or  English  (of  course,  I  am  speaking  now 
of  what  we  call  the  educated  classes) ;  they  all  play 
or  sing,  they  frequently  paint  a  little — in  short,  they 
are  accomplished.  As  yet,  all  this  is  hearsay,  as  we 
have  met  none  of  them. 

Such  a  funny  thing  happened  while  we  were  driv- 

8? 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

ing  that  day.  We  went  out  to  the  hospital  to  see 
one  of  our  American  acquaintances  who  was  ill 
there,  and  as  we  drove  up  we  found  her  husband 
and  the  superintendent  of  the  hospital  out  in  the 
street,  interviewing  a  man  in  charge  of  a  drove 
of  burros  that  had  stopped  for  water  at  a  trough 
nearby.  This  person  was  greatly  excited,  and  raved 
and  raged,  with  shrill  expletive  and  violent  gesture. 
The  racket  he  made  had  brought  the  men  out  from 
the  hospital,  and  they  finally  succeeded  in  calming 
him  sufficiently  to  learn  that  he  had  lost  a  burro. 
He  had  started  with  twenty -one,  and  now  there 
were  but  twenty.  He  had  counted  again  and  again. 
Twenty-one  they  had  been,  and  twenty  they  were 
now,  as  the  senores  could  see  for  themselves.  And 
twenty  it  was — until  it  was  discovered  that  he  was 
riding  the  twenty-first! 

We  have  been,  by  tram-car,  out  to  Chorillas,  a 
pretty  suburb,  where  I  vainly  tried  to  make  Uncle 
Beverley  and  some  of  the  Englishmen  see  that  even 
though  there  were  comparatively  few  trees  and  the 
hills  were  brown,  there  was  wonderful  color  every 
where  and  great  beauty.  They  said  yes,  yielding  a 
polite,  unconvinced  affirmative  in  deference  to  my 
sex  and  my  position,  but  it  was  so  bare,  you  know! 
No  verdure  at  all!  So  dreary!  Isn't  it  amazing 
that  people  can  live  to  be  old  and  gray  without  ever 
discovering  that  they  are  totally  blind  ?  Wouldn't 
you  think  they'd  suspect  it  sometime,  instead  of 
forever  insisting  that  things  do  not  exist  simply 
because  they  can't  see  them  ? 

We  have  also  visited  the  museum — still  interest- 

88 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

ing,  though  sadly  much  of  its  treasure  was  removed 
at  the  time  of  the  war  —  and  a  theatre,  where,  as 
in  other  originally  Spanish  cities,  "zarzuelas"  are 
given,  which  means  several  short  plays,  generally 
four,  each  lasting  about  an  hour,  for  any  or  all  of 
which  one  may  buy  seats.  I  wonder  why  some 
body  doesn't  try  that  plan  in  our  large  cities  ?  We 
have  been  offered  a  programme  of  short  plays,  but  I 
think  seats  were  always  sold  for  the  whole  evening. 
Here,  as  in  Mexico,  it  is  possible  to  drop  into  a 
theatre  from  nine  to  ten,  or  ten  to  eleven,  and  for 
a  few  cents  hear  a  complete  little  play  —  called  a 
"tanda,"  or  turn — which  may  be  comedy,  tragedy, 
farce,  or  music,  but  is  pretty  sure  to  be  fairly  well 
done.  It  is  a  delightful  way  to  spend  an  hour  or  to 
entertain  friends,  when  perhaps  one  wouldn't  care 
to  sit  through  a  whole  evening  at  the  theatre  or  to 
pay  two  dollars  for  an  hour's  amusement. 

Our  English  friends,  Mr.  Tomlinson  and  others, 
urged  us  to  accompany  them  on  a  trip  over  the 
wonderful  Andean  railroad,  for  which  they  had  a 
special  train;  but  as  many  people  suffer  terribly 
from  a  curious  illness  that  assails  them  in  high 
altitudes  here,  and  as  Mr.  Ames  was  too  busy  to 
go  with  us,  and  Berenice  had  been  having  severe 
headaches  for  several  days,  I  thought  it  better  not 
to  attempt  the  journey.  Moreover,  I  knew  that  if 
the  altitude  spared  me,  our  friends  would  not,  and 
I  felt  that  their  comment  on  these  glorious  heights 
would  undo  me  quite.  So,  not  caring  to  quarrel 
with  these  amiable  "trippers"  at  this  late  day,  I 
chose  the  better  part  and  declined  to  go.  I  was 

89 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

more  than  sorry  to  miss  it,  for  it  is  one  of  the  great 
scenic  roads  of  the  world,  but  Mr.  Ames  thinks  he 
may  be  able  to  take  us  up  there  later. 

Berenice  seems  to  be  suffering  from  a  nervous 
reaction.  After  Mr.  Gaveston  and  Shafter  Blakeney 
left,  she  dropped  all  her  gayety.  She  is  not  briery 
now,  but  seems  very  listless,  and  has  occasional 
hours  of  deep  melancholy.  She  is  beginning  to 
turn  to  me  a  little,  I  think.  At  any  rate,  she  no 
longer  turns  away,  and  while  she  does  not  talk  to 
me  very  much — except,  of  course,  in  courteous, 
casual  ways — she  listens  when  I  talk  to  her.  I  am 
telling  her,  gradually,  more  and  more  of  myself 
and  my  own  life,  though  as  yet  I  have  not  ventured 
to  touch  upon  hers.  I  begin  to  hope,  however, 
that  I  have  not  wholly  failed  with  her,  after  all. 

I  have  a  dozen  other  things  to  tell  you  about, 
but  I  have  gossiped  along,  without  diligently  im 
proving  the  opportunity,  and  now  I  must  stop,  as 
there  is  not  in  all  Lima  a  hair-dressing  establish 
ment,  and  we  are  invited  out  to-night  to  play  cards, 
the  party  being  in  our  honor.  The  first  thing  people 
say  to  you  here  is:  " I'm  so  glad  to  meet  you.  Do 
you  play  bridge?" 

Oh,  I  haven't  told  you  anything  about  Mrs. 
Mabel  Mills  Rankin,  a  sharp  little  American  widow 
who  is  what,  at  home,  we  call  a  promoter,  and  plies 
her  vocation  so  successfully  that  she  has  interested 
several  South  American  governments — or  govern 
ment  officials,  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing — 
in  her  schemes,  in  consequence  of  which  she  is  get 
ting  rich  very  rapidly.  Whether  they  are  laying 

90 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

up  equal  hordes  of  experience  I  haven't  learned, 
but  I  suspect  that  they  are,  though  they  may  not 
have  discovered  it  yet. 

Mrs.  Rankin  is  young  and  pretty  and  clever  and 
well-groomed,  with  a  caressing  manner  and  a  smile 
that  is  childlike  and  bland — but  her  eyes  are  too 
brightly  blue. 

People  here  all  laugh  a  little  when  she  is  mentioned 
— the  Americans,  I  mean;  but  they  all  seem  to  know 
her,  and  to  feel  more  or  less  strongly — the  men  more, 
the  women  less — that  she  is  fighting  against  heavy 
odds  and  winning,  which  of  course  always  arouses 
a  certain  sympathy  in  the  spectator.  I  have  only 
met  her  once,  but  she  is  to  be  at  the  card-party  to 
night,  and  I  am  looking  forward  to  it  rather  eagerly, 
for  I  am  really  very  curious  about  this  woman,  of 
whom  I  have  heard  so  much. 

Lima,  March  23d. 

We  have  had  two  experiences  since  I  wrote  last 
week,  both  eminently  characteristic  of  the  country, 
I  think,  and  either  of  which  was  worth  the  trip  down 
here,  though  I  fancy  I  got  more  amusement  out  of 
the  first  than  anybody  else  did. 

There  are  in  the  hotel  some  pleasant  Americans 
named  Canfield,  residents  of  Lima,  of  whom  we 
have  seen  a  good  deal.  One  day  Mrs.  Canfield  told 
us  about  a  man  who  for  some  time  had  cared  for 
her  husband's  clothes,  taking  them  away  to  sponge 
and  press  them.  For  quite  a  while  he  returned  them 
promptly,  but  there  came  a  time  when  man  and 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

clothes  were  missing.  Five  or  six  days  went  by, 
and  then  he  limped  painfully  in  with  them,  and 
explained  with  tears  that  a  street-car  had  run  over 
his  foot  and  that  he  had  consequently  been  unable 
to  press  the  senor's  suit  before,  which  had  been  a 
great  grief  to  him.  He  had  been  disabled  for  several 
days,  he  said,  and  had  lost  much  money  thereby, 
but  the  senora  was  a  merciful  lady  and  would  not 
be  hard  on  a  poor  man. 

This  was  when  we  first  came,  and  the  tale  so 
worked  on  Uncle  Beverley's  feelings  that  he  sent  for 
the  man  and  gave  him  two  suits  that  needed  atten 
tion.  Mrs.  Canfield  also  gave  him  a  suit  of  her 
husband's.  He  was  properly  grateful,  took  the  gar 
ments  and  departed — and  was  seen  no  more  for  a 
week.  Meanwhile,  after  two  or  three  days,  Uncle 
Beverley  began  to  puff  up  and  roll  his  eyes — I  ad 
mit  that  I  might  have  done  a  little  puffing  myself 
under  similar  circumstances — and  Mr.  Canfield  took 
to  sending  a  boy  to  the  man's  shop  every  day, 
telling  him  to  produce  the  clothes  or  prepare  to  be 
arrested. 

Finally  came  a  note  to  Mr.  Canfield,  saying  that 
the  man  had  been  in  the  hospital,  very  ill,  and 
therefore  unable  to  attend  to  the  clothing  of  the 
gentlemen,  but  he  was  now  well  again.  He  saluted 
the  senor,  and  the  senor's  wife,  and  the  senor's 
daughter,  and  the  senor's  friend,  the  strange  gentle 
man  from  North  America,  and  hoped  they  might 
never  die.  He  would  return  the  clothes  on  the 
morrow. 

The  next  day  he  came,  with  tears  and  lamenta- 

92 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

tions.  During  the  time  he  had  been  in  the  hospital 
his  flint-hearted  landlady,  having  received  no  rent 
for  his  room  because  he  was  ill  and  unable  to  work, 
had  set  his  trunk  and  all  his  property  out  on  the 
sidewalk.  The  trunk  had  been  plundered  and  all 
the  clothes  of  both  gentlemen  had  been  stolen.  He 
wept  and  beat  his  breast  and  declared  that  he  was 
the  most  unfortunate — but  the  clothes  of  the  senores 
were  gone! 

Mrs.  Canfield,  somewhat  at  a  loss,  sent  for  her 
husband,  who  was  not  in  his  office.  Neither  were 
any  of  us  about.  Not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  she 
took  the  man's  address  and  let  him  go,  and  when 
they  sent  to  his  shop  later,  he  had,  of  course,  dis 
appeared.  Search  was  then  instituted,  and  even 
tually,  day  before  yesterday,  he  was  found,  and 
Messrs.  Ames  and  Canfield  went  to  interview  him. 
He  wept  more  tears  and  swore  that  he  was  a  poor 
but  honest  man.  The  clothes  of  the  very  distin 
guished  gentlemen  had  been  stolen  and  his  heart 
was  rent  with  anguish,  but  he  was  a  very  poor  man 
and  what  could  he  do? 

"Give  me  the  pawn-tickets,"  unfeelingly  demand 
ed  Mr.  Canfield — and  in  the  course  of  time  that  is 
what  he  did,  and  the  men  recovered  their  raiment. 
If  it  were  mine,  I  should  conduct  some  purification 
ceremonies  before  I  wore  it  again. 

This  pleasant  little  habit  of  disposing  temporarily 
of  other  people's  apparel  seems  to  be  one  of  the 
customs  of  the  country  which  must  be  accepted. 
An  American  woman  told  me  the  other  day  that 
several  of  the  laundresses  have  renting  agencies, 

93 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

and  that  between  the  time  one's  linen  is  taken  away 
and  the  time  it  is  returned,  a  week  later,  it  may 
have  been  worn  once  or  twice  by  "dressy"  cholos. 

A  girl  of  the  lower  classes,  ready  to  be  married, 
pawns  her  trousseau,  if  by  any  chance  it  is  finished 
a  few  days  before  the  wedding.  It  seems  to  me 
this  is  going  our  financial  methods  one  better! 

A  dressmaker,  once  having  possession  of  one's 
material,  sends  constantly — daily — for  money  and 
more  money,  a  sol  or  two  at  a  time,  not  only  before 
the  work  is  finished,  but  before  it  is  even  begun. 
If  the  money  is  not  forthcoming,  she  pawns  the 
material.  Sometimes  she  pawns  it  anyway. 

They  tell  me  it  is  quite  impossible  to  get  a  sewing 
woman  to  come  in  by  the  day,  as  they  do  with  us- 
Once  some  of  them  heard  of  a  girl  who  might  be 
willing  to  do  this,  the  daughter  of  a  good  but  much 
impoverished  family,  who  had  been  educated  at  a 
convent,  was  a  fine  seamstress,  of  irreproachable 
respectability  and  greatly  in  need  of  work.  One 
of  the  American  women  sent  for  her,  found  her  to 
be  a  woman  of  thirty  or  thereabout,  and  engaged 
her.  On  the  appointed  day  appeared,  not  the  young 
woman,  but  her  mother,  reproachful  and  indignant. 
The  sefiora  knew  quite  well,  she  said,  that  it  would 
be  impossible  for  her  daughter  to  come  to  the  hotel 
to  sew,  for  they  lived  in  a  suburb  and  there  was  no 
one  to  accompany  her  daughter  to  and  from  the 
senora's  house.  In  vain  the  senora  pointed  out  that 
the  young  woman  could  get  on  a  tram-car  at  her 
own  door,  which  would  bring  her  directly  to  the 
hotel.  The  mother  was  inflexible.  It  was  quite 

94 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

impossible  for  her  daughter  to  go  out  unaccom 
panied,  and  there  it  ended. 

At  another  time,  a  Peruvian  girl  was  to  take 
sewing  away  from  the  hotel  to  do,  something  which 
must  be  returned  the  same  day.  Though  she  was 
sorely  in  need  of  money,  she  refused  the  work, 
because  a  young  woman  of  good  breeding  does  not 
appear  twice  in  the  street  in  one  day,  and  therefore, 
having  come  for  the  work  in  the  morning,  it  would 
obviously  be  quite  impossible  for  her  to  return  it  in 
the  afternoon. 

To  us,  a  practical,  utilitarian  people,  much  of  this 
seems  absurd,  but  nevertheless  there  is  something 
fine  in  the  willingness  of  members  of  these  proud  old 
families  to  sacrifice  their  bodies  rather  than  tarnish 
their  traditions. 

Opinions  seem  to  differ  as  to  the  capacity  of  the 
laboring  classes.  One  person  assures  us  that  they 
are  very  intelligent  and  need  only  to  be  shown  the 
use  of  things  to  become  fairly  skilful  operators; 
while  another,  as  long  resident  here  and  apparently 
equally  fitted  to  judge,  tells  quite  a  different  story; 
so  it  is  difficult  to  form  any  definite  opinion. 

I  find  I  committed  a  grave  breach  of  decorum  dur 
ing  the  first  days  we  were  here,  as  women  wear 
ing  hats  are  not  permitted  to  enter  the  churches. 
Instead  they  wear  a  sort  of  shawl,  generally  of 
nun's  -  veiling,  called  a  man  to,  wrapped  tightly 
about  the  head  and  fastened  in  curious  fashion  in 
the  back,  the  folds  running  to  a  point  between  the 
shoulder-blades.  This  garment  is  very  graceful, 
particularly  from  behind,  but  the  style  is  a  severe 
7  95 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

one,  and  as  the  manto  is  invariably  black — except 
at  weddings,  when  I  believe  it  may  be  white — and 
is  worn  by  women  of  the  lower  classes  at  all  times, 
and  in  the  morning  to  mass  and  to  market  by  women 
of  the  highest  social  position  as  well,  it  gives  the 
streets  rather  a  sombre  appearance.  Sometimes  lace 
mantillas  are  substituted,  cool,  graceful  things,  but 
the  preference  seems  to  be  for  the  shrouding  manto. 

Among  the  men,  I  miss  the  light  cotton  garments, 
gay  sarapes  and  fantastic  hats  of  Mexico.  Here  the 
workmen  are  clad  very  much  as  they  are  with  us 
in  hot  weather. 

The  people  are  generally  small.  I,  who  am  be 
low  average  height  at  home,  as  you  know,  am  as 
tall  as  many  of  the  men  and  taller  than  most  of 
the  women.  Shafter  Blakeney,  strolling  along  the 
street  one  day,  ruminatively  eyed  some  guardians 
of  the  peace,  and  remarked : 

"If  I  were  only  five  feet  tall,  I'd  hate  to  be  a 
policeman." 

On  another  occasion  we  passed  some  troops  lined 
up  outside  a  church  where  a  military  funeral  was  in 
progress,  and  he  said : 

"  I  suppose  a  man  under  five  feet  can  pull  a  trigger 
as  well  as  a  bigger  one — but  somehow,  it's  against 
tradition." 

However,  I  told  him  he  saw  through  Chilean 
lenses.  Although  an  American,  he  was  born  and 
spent  all  his  boyhood  in  Chile,  and  feeling  between 
the  two  countries  is  still  anything  but  cordial,  as  is 
evident  even  in  the  comment  of  foreigners  living  in 
one  place  or  the  other. 

96 


Copyright,  1907,  by  Underwood  &  Underwood,  N.  Y. 

THE     CATHEDRAL     WHERE     PIZARRO     LIES 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Still,  the  Peruvians  do  impress  one  as  being  a  gen 
tle  rather  than  an  aggressive  and  war-like  people, 
though  just  now,  as  the  presidential  election  draws 
near,  there  is  much  talk  of  revolution,  and  yesterday 
we  saw  a  political  demonstration  that  suggested 
this  might  have  more  back  of  it  than  mere  Latin 
love  of  flourishing  phrases. 

Down  one  side  of  the  street  beneath  our  windows 
marched  a  rabble  of  men  and  boys  carrying  banners 
and  waving  red  flags.  Now  and  then  one  tossed 
his  arms  and  shouted  something  unintelligible  to 
us,  and  wild  cheering  followed.  Down  the  other 
side  of  the  same  street,  step  for  step,  paralleling 
the  line  of  march,  came  government  troops  in  single 
file,  ready  to  check  instantly  any  real  movement 
toward  revolution,  while  officers  of  high  rank,  both 
military  and  civil,  galloped  to  and  fro  and  frequently 
consulted  together. 

Free  speech  is  evidently  permitted,  but  a  firm 
hand  is  kept  on  the  reins  of  government.  The 
affairs  of  Peru,  however,  unlike  those  of  some  of 
her  neighbors,  are  said  to  be  honestly  conducted 
under  the  present  administration. 

The  other  experience  to  which  I  alluded  was  social. 
Mr.  Ames  has  spent  more  or  less  time  here  in  the 
office  of  a  German  firm,  and  to  my  utter  amazement, 
he  came  in  the  other  night  saying  that  we  were  all 
to  spend  the  evening  at  the  house  of  one  of  these 
men. 

I  promptly  arose  in  protest.  I  did  not  know  the 
men,  the  women  of  the  family  had  not  called  upon 
me,  the  thing  was  entirely  irregular  and  unnecessary, 

97 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

I  was  very  tired,  Berenice  had  a  headache,  and  he 
would  much  better  go  alone,  anyway.  All  of  which 
he  admitted,  and  then  asked  me  if  I  wouldn't  please, 
as  a  favor  to  him,  overlook  all  these  things  and  go. 
He  said  these  people,  while  not  directly  connected 
with  him  commercially,  had  gone  out  of  their  way 
to  help  him  in  certain  important  matters ;  it  was  the 
family's  evening  at  home,  and  the  man  had  made 
quite  a  point  of  his  coming  and  bringing  Berenice 
and  me.  So,  on  condition  that  we  need  not  stay 
over  half  an  hour  or  so,  I  finally  agreed  to  go. 
Berenice  was  quite  indifferent  either  way. 

I  asked  him  what  kind  of  people  they  were,  hav 
ing  in  my  mind  the  question  of  apparel,  and  he 
said  he  knew  nothing  about  them  socially.  He 
had  not  met  the  ladies  of  the  family,  but  thought 
they  were  probably  like  the  men,  pleasant,  quiet, 
kindly,  unpretentious  Germans.  We  decided,  how 
ever,  not  to  alter  our  custom  of  dressing  for  dinner. 

Therefore,  after  a  prosy  meal,  during  the  entire 
length  of  which  Uncle  Beverley  dilated  upon  the 
haps  and  mishaps  of  Sherman's  march  to  the  sea, 
we  girded  up  our  loins  and  set  forth  to  find  the 
Hauptmann  residence.  We  wandered  down  what 
seemed  to  me — in  the  dark  and  in  a  naughty  temper 
— a  very  dubious  -  looking  street,  in  search  of  a 
modest  dwelling.  Judge,  therefore,  of  our  astonish 
ment  when  we  found  the  number  we  sought  over 
a  wide  doorway  leading  into  a  large  and  elabo 
rately  paved  patio,  from  the  other  side  of  which 
music  and  laughing  voices  floated  out  through  open, 
grilled  windows,  through  which,  also,  were  visible  soft 

98 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

colored  lights,  palms,  spacious  rooms  and  a  gay 
company. 

After  satisfying  himself  that  no  other  door  open 
ing  on  the  patio  could  possibly  be  the  one  we  sought, 
Mr.  Ames  rang,  and  the  door  was  promptly  opened 
by  a  smiling  and  very  pretty  girl,  evidently  a  mem 
ber  of  the  family,  who  greeted  us  in  Spanish,  ex 
tended  her  hand  and  drew  us  within,  where  we  found 
ourselves  in  a  large  and  very  handsome  reception- 
hall. 

Before  Uncle  Beverley  could  summon  Spanish 
enough  to  ask  whether  this  was  really  the  place  we 
were  looking  for,  we  were  joined  by  another  daughter 
of  the  house,  and  then  by  a  third.  Our  wraps  were 
taken,  and  at  the  door  of  the  sala  we  were  met  by 
a  smiling  and  very  gracious  Peruvian  lady,  who  was 
introduced  as  "mi  madre, "  while  we  were  presented  to 
her  by  our  several  names — the  first  assurance  we 
had  that  anybody  really  knew  who  we  were.  "Mi 
padre"  promptly  appeared  from  somewhere,  and 
behind  him  came  trooping  a  lot  of  young  men,  all 
in  irreproachable  evening  dress,  most  of  whom  could 
speak  at  least  a  few  words  of  English. 

In  the  mean  time  it  had  been  discovered  that 
neither  Berenice  nor  I  spoke  any  Spanish,  though 
we  both  understand  more  or  less  now;  so  after  we 
had  been  duly  presented  to  everybody,  one  man  who 
spoke  English  sat  down  beside  me,  another  beside 
Berenice,  while  Herr — or  should  one  say  Senor? — 
Hauptmann  himself  took  Mr.  Ames  in  tow,  and 
conversation  was  generally  resumed.  When  I  got 
my  breath  and  had  finished  my  prayers  of  thanks- 

99 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

giving  to  my  guardian  angel  that  we  had  not  dressed 
down  to  the  supposed  sobriety  of  the  Hauptmann 
family,  I  looked  about  a  little. 

We  were  in  a  very  large  and  handsomely  appoint 
ed  room.  Immense  oil-paintings  adorned  the  walls, 
and  wide  doors  led,  in  various  directions,  into  other 
spacious  and  brilliantly  lighted  apartments.  The 
only  women,  besides  the  hostess  and  her  four  grown 
daughters,  were  a  Mrs.  Dogan,  also  a  Peruvian,  and 
ourselves.  There  were  several  sons  of  the  house 
and  a  lot  of  other  young  fellows,  all  rather  attractive, 
whose  numbers  were  constantly  augmented. 

Presently  I  was  asked  if  I  would  like  a  refresco, 
and  as  it  is  courteous  in  this  country  to  accept  every 
refreshment  that  is  offered,  I  said  I  would,  and  was 
escorted  on  the  arm  of  one  of  the  men  to  an  ad 
joining  room,  even  larger  than  the  first,  with  finer 
pictures,  and  furnished  beautifully,  though  very 
formally.  Here  was  a  buffet  with  wines  of  va 
rious  sorts  and  whiskey,  none  of  which  anybody 
drank,  and  refrescos,  as  well  as  many  varieties  of 
sweets. 

One  or  two  of  the  daughters  were  near  us  all  the 
time,  and  I  liked  them  so  much  that  I  was  doubly 
sorry  not  to  be  able  to  talk  to  them  or  to  their  sweet- 
faced  mother.  They  all  speak  Spanish  and  German 
and  some  French,  and  I  speak — English!  Berenice 
has  a  little  school-girl  French,  but  she  doesn't  find 
it  very  serviceable.  The  old  coat  of  the  son  of  the 
good  notary  doesn't  figure  largely  in  the  things  she 
wishes  to  say  here.  She,  by- the- way,  behaved  very 
well,  and  couldn't  help  having  a  good  time,  es- 

IOO 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

pecially  as  she  found  a  boy  who  knew  several  of  her 
friends  at  home. 

They  asked  me  whether  I  would  dance  a  "qua- 
drilla,"  but  I  was  a  little  afraid  to  attempt  that 
and  begged  them  to  dance  it  without  me  and  let 
me  look  on.  Presently  I  heard  them  whispering  be 
hind  me  that  they  had  intended  to  have  a  quadrilla, 
but  of  course,  if  the  senora  didn't  care  for  it — 
Whereupon  the  senora  suddenly  awoke  to  her  ob 
ligations  and  protested  that  she  cared  very  much 
for  it  and  was  only  afraid  of  embarrassing  the  others 
by  her  awkwardness.  So  we  danced  a  quadrille. 

I  have  not  mentioned  that  all  this  time  there  was 
somebody  at  the  piano  playing  lively  little  airs  that 
nobody  pretended  to  listen  to,  but  which  made  a 
gay  undertone.  Apparently  all  these  young  men 
could  play  more  or  less,  and  when  there  had  been 
silence  for  a  little  while,  one  of  them  simply  went 
to  the  piano.  Possibly  some  member  of  the  family 
asked  them  to,  but  if  so,  I  never  detected  it.  It 
seemed  to  be  entirely  spontaneous,  and  was  conse 
quently  doubly  charming.  Their  selections,  by-the- 
way,  were  chiefly  American  rag-time  melodies  and 
two-steps. 

When  they  found  I  could  get  through  a  quadrille, 
they  immediately  started  round  dances.  In  the 
mean  time,  word  had  evidently  gone  about  that  we 
were  strangers  and  spoke  no  Spanish,  and  from  the 
time  I  was  taken  out  for  the  refresco  I  was  the  centre 
of  a  group  of  eager,  courteous  boys,  all  apparently 
with  but  one  desire  in  life  just  then,  and  that  was  to 
talk  to  me.  I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  Berenice  was 

101 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

not  equally  surrounded,  for  she  was,  but  that  was 
to  be  expected.  But  every  one  of  those  fellows  who 
spoke  even  a  few  words  of  English  came  to  me  and 
did  his  brave  best  to  converse  with  me  in  my  own 
tongue.  A  few  of  them  spoke  it  fluently,  too,  and 
one,  in  particular,  was  very  witty. 

When  the  round  dancing  began,  one  was  at  my 
elbow  as  soon  as  I  stopped  dancing  with  another, 
saying,  "The  next  for  me!"  I  was  dancing  abomi 
nably,  too,  partly  because  we  had  a  heavily  carpeted 
floor,  and  partly  because  my  gown,  a  lace  thing,  was 
very  long  and  full  and  impossible  to  hold  up  proper 
ly,  so  we  were  constantly  becoming  entangled  in  it. 
After  I  had  danced  holes  all  up  the  front  of  it,  I  gave 
up  trying,  and  considerably  after  midnight  we  left, 
the  whole  company  shaking  hands  with  us  and 
assuring  us  of  their  great  pleasure  in  meeting  us. 
The  eldest  son  gave  me  his  arm  and  escorted  me 
through  the  great  patio  to  the  street,  where,  with  a 
flourish,  he  turned  me  over  to  Mr.  Ames,  who  fol 
lowed  behind  with  Berenice. 

Now,  I  would  like  to  see  the  time  and  place  in  my 
own  country  when  the  casual  and  unexpected  en 
trance  into  a  company  of  young  people  of  a  Peruvian 
lady,  thirty- six  and  a  chaperon,  would  be  the  signal 
for  all  the  boys  to  gather  about  her,  vying  with  each 
other  to  entertain  her  and  give  her  pleasure.  Not 
to  mention  talking  to  her  in  her  native  language — 
or  in  any  other  language,  for  that  matter,  except 
their  own  plain,  unmitigated  English,  and  most  of 
it  slang  at  that! 

Those  boys  had  no  earthly  interest  in  me — in 

IO2 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Berenice,  of  course,  but  not  in  me — but  I  was  a 
woman  and  a  stranger,  and  consequently  the  guest 
of  every  one  of  them.  They  made  me  feel  that  I 
was  young  and  beautiful  and  clever  and  fascinating 
— oh,  there  never  was  anybody  so  fascinating  as  I 
felt  that  night! — and  yet  not  one  of  them  paid  me 
a  compliment  in  words  throughout  the  whole  even 
ing.  They  simply  had  neither  eyes  nor  ears  for 
any  one  else  if  I  spoke  or  moved  a  finger!  Do  you, 
in  your  mind's  eye,  see  anything  like  that  happening 
to  a  chaperoning  foreign  lady  at  home  ? 

But  the  next  morning — ah,  that  was  another 
story!  I  remembered  that  roseate  dream  of  youth 
and  beauty  and  brilliancy,  but  I  awoke  a  rheumatic, 
stiff-jointed,  weary  old  woman,  who  had  frisked  un- 
wontedly  and  now  must  pay  the  piper.  Anyway, 
I  had  the  dream. 

Mr.  Blinn  came  again  yesterday,  with  his  sister, 
a  charming,  gray-haired  woman  whom  we  had  not 
met  before,  as  she  was  ill  and  not  receiving  the  day 
we  called.  He  is  a  widower,  I  believe,  and  she  is  the 
chatelaine  of  the  Legation,  which,  by- the- way,  is  a 
beautiful  place — a  fine,  stately,  big  house,  set  in 
the  midst  of  a  lovely,  park-like  garden.  I  am  sorry 
we  came  when  everybody  was  so  tired,  for  I  should 
have  enjoyed  seeing  more  of  most  of  these  peo 
ple. 

This,  however,  is  my  last  letter  from  here,  as  we 
sail  —  please  Heaven  and  the  agents!  —  to-morrow 
night  for  Chile.  They  say  the  regular  time  to  Val 
paraiso  is  ten  days,  which  is  probably  the  reason 
that  no  ship  ever  makes  it  in  less  than  twelve.  The 

103 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

regularity  of  the  steamship  service  on  this  coast  is  a 
joy  forever. 

There  will  be  a  mail  for  the  North  to-morrow — if 
it  gets  off! — the  first  for  ten  days.  You  will  prob 
ably  get  my  letters  in  squads,  but  I  can't  help  that. 
I  shall  write  whenever  I  have  something  to  say,  and 
"leave  to  Heaven  the  rest." 

Apropos  of  steamers,  we  are  likely  to  become  very 
well  acquainted  indeed  with  the  promoter  lady,  Mrs. 
Rankin,  as  we  are  to  have  her  with  us  all  the  way 
to  Valparaiso.  It  looks  rather  a  long  trail  to  me, 
but  last  night  I  overheard  Uncle  Beverley  express 
ing  his  great  pleasure  that  she  was  to  be  our  fellow- 
passenger,  and  telling  her  what  a  delight  it  would 
be  to  Berenice  and  me  to  have  another  American 
woman  on  board.  Quite  so.  Subtle  perception,  as 
you  see,  is  Uncle  Beverley 's  strong  point — though 
in  this  he  is  like  certain  deaf  people,  who  can't  hear 
the  most  distinct  speech  addressed  to  them,  but 
never  miss  an  aside  meant  for  somebody  else's  pri 
vate  ear. 

As  to  Mrs.  Rankin,  I  think  I  have  said  before  that 
her  eyes  are  too  blue. 

At  Sea,  March  28th. 

Did  I  say  I  would  write  whenever  I  had  something 
to  tell  you  ?  My  dear,  if  I  did  I  should  never  sleep ! 
In  witness  whereof  I  am  now  scribbling  at  midnight 
in  my  state-room  because  I've  simply  got  to  relieve 
my  mind  somehow. 

Years  ago,  when  I  was  a  very  young  girl,  a  mis- 

104 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

guided  woman  expressed  envy  of  me,  not — as  you 
might  think — for  me  fatal  beauty,  but  because  I  was, 
to  use  her  phrase,  "bound  to  be  one  of  the  people 
things  happen  to."  I  admire  her  discrimination,  but 
deplore  her  taste.  Fancy  envying  anybody  who  has 
been  Fate's  football  ever  since  she  could  talk,  and 
whose  wake  is  strewn  with  the  wreckage  of  fond 
hopes  and  best-laid  plans !  That  metaphor  isn't  any 
more  mixed  than  the  career  it  refers  to,  either. 

I  think  it  is  Baudelaire  who  says  somewhere  that 
life  is  a  hospital  where  every  patient  desires  to 
change  his  bed,  this  one  longing  to  lie  near  the 
stove,  and  that  one  sure  he  would  recover  by  the 
window.  Just  at  this  moment,  any  little  quiet 
country  village  where  nothing  ever  happens,  and 
nobody  ever  comes  except  the  tin-peddler,  looks 
like  heaven  to  me.  But  evidently  I  am  not  yet  ripe 
for  the  celestial  choirs,  and  if  heaven  is  my  home,  I 
have  a  mighty  long  way  to  tramp  before  I  get  there ! 
Meanwhile,  I  am  enduring  what  I  once  heard  a 
lecturer  call  "violent  vicissitudes."  He  loved  the 
phrase  and  lingered  with  it — as  I  shall  hereafter.  It 
is  a  soul-satisfying  mouthful. 

When  I  wrote  you  last  from  Lima,  five  days  ago — 
Heavens !  is  it  only  five  days  ? — I  was  about  to  begin 
packing  quite  blithely.  When  I  had  finished  I  must 
have  looked  as  tired  as  I  felt,  for  Uncle  Beverley 
came  in,  regarded  me  solicitously  for  a  few  minutes 
— and  did  it  again.  Berenice,  also  fatigued  from 
packing,  was  asleep  in  her  room,  so  he  had  a  clear 
field.  He  began  by  saying  that  it  grieved  him  to 
see  me  weary,  and  that  he  wanted  to  make  life 

105 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

easier  for  me.  There's  another  patient  who  desires 
to  change  his  bed !  Why  the  man  can't  see  that  he 
was  born  to  be  a  bachelor,  and  that  for  him  a  wife 
would  be  as  superfluous  as  a  vermiform  appendix — 
and  as  troublesome — I  don't  know!  Incidentally, 
the  appendix  would  not  have  what  is  vulgarly  called 
a  snap. 

However,  while  far  from  impassioned,  he  seemed 
very  much  in  earnest  about  it  and  decidedly  ar 
gumentative,  apparently  having  conceived  the  idea 
that  I  didn't  know  my  own  mind  in  the  matter.  I 
was  furious  with  him,  anyway,  for  leaving  the  nice 
little  paths  I  had  so  carefully  indicated  and  for  ignor 
ing  my  big  "No  Thoroughfare"  sign,  and  though  I 
tried  to  be  kind,  I  was  very  firm  indeed. 

I  trust  that  he  now  understands  that  not  even  my 
promise  to  Helen  will  prevent  my  taking  the  first 
steamer  for  home  if  this  happens  again.  Imagine 
sn  ailing  around  the  edge  of  a  whole  continent  with  a 
proposal  at  every  third  port,  all  from  the  same  man. 
Thank  you,  no!  And  as  for  the  other  alternative, 
while  I  may  survive  a  diet  of  Civil  War  dust  for  six 
months,  if  I  can  have  it  lubricated  now  and  then 
with  a  few  drops  from  the  flow  of  some  chance  pass 
ing  soul,  it  doesn't  appeal  to  me  as  food  for  steady 
living.  You  remember  the  New  Englander  who 
lamented  that  just  as  he  got  his  cow  nicely  trained 
to  eat  shavings  she  up  and  died?  I'm  afraid  my 
end,  if  I  should  marry  Uncle  Beverley,  would  be 
much  less  subdued  than  that.  However,  I'm  not 
going  to  marry  Uncle. 

That  was  the  first  thing  that  happened.  The 
1 06 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

next — the  same  night — was  the  total  breakdown 
of  Berenice's  reserve.  I  don't  yet  know  what  pre 
cipitated  it.  She  was  tired,  I  suppose,  emotionally 
and  physically — she  had  been  irritable  and  sullen 
by  turns  all  day — and  some  tender  word  or  touch 
of  mine  snapped  the  last  thread. 

Once  started,  the  whole  thing  came  in  a  torrent, 
and  she  sobbed  in  my  arms  for  hours.  As  a  result, 
I  am  rather  inclined  to  agree  with  the  Blakeney  boy 
that  Perry  Waite  is  "going  to  get  anything  he 
thinks  worth  going  after,"  and  moreover,  he  will  get 
it  fairly  and  straightforwardly,  in  open  daylight. 
Whether  or  not  Berenice  will  prove  "worth  going 
after"  remains  to  be  seen.  I  have  a  sneaking  hope 
that  she  will — which,  of  course,  is  altogether  trait 
orous  and  irregular,  considering  the  errand  that 
brought  me  down  here. 

She  met  young  Waite  about  six  months  ago,  and 
life  held  nothing  but  the  other  for  either  of  them 
after  that.  Evidently  she  never  wears  her  heart 
on  her  sleeve,  however,  for  though  Dick  and  Helen 
knew  about  this  youth,  they  never  dreamed  that 
the  affair  could  be  serious  until  the  young  man 
marched  up  to  Dick  one  day  and  asked  for  his 
daughter. 

Dick  was  terribly  worried  at  the  time,  harassed 
by  business  anxieties,  and  he  sent  the  boy  about 
his  business  even  more  ungently  than  he  might 
under  other  circumstances,  and  commanded  Bere 
nice  to  break  off  her  acquaintance  with  him  en 
tirely — which  was  a  perfectly  insane  attitude  to 
take  toward  a  girl  of  her  type.  Of  course,  she 

107 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

promptly  backed  up  against  the  wall  and  defied 
heaven  and  earth  and  the  little  stars  to  come  be 
tween  her  and  her  true  love.  So  much  I  already 
know  from  Helen,  but  Berenice  gave  me  her  ver 
sion  of  it,  also.  Then,  finding  they  could  do  noth 
ing  with  her,  and  having  no  faith  at  all  in  the 
young  man,  they  evolved  this  scheme  of  bundling 
us  all  off  to  the  South  Pole. 

Berenice,  in  the  mean  time,  supposed  that  she 
still  had  her  back  against  her  Wall — young  Waite  in 
the  character  of  Snout  enacting  the  part — but  when, 
rinding  she  was  to  be  sent  away  like  any  other 
naughty  child,  she  attempted  to  seek  shelter  behind 
it,  she  found  the  Wall  wasn't  there  at  all.  In  other 
words,  she  coaxed  or  bribed  somebody  in  the  house 
— even  in  her  collapse  she  wouldn't  tell  me  who  it 
was — to  help  her  elope;  and  when  her  plans  were 
all  made  and  everything  arranged,  she  sent  word 
to  her  lover,  whom  she  knew  to  be  in  Montreal,  that 
she  would  marry  him  the  day  before  we  were  ex 
pected  to  sail,  with  full  directions  as  to  when  and 
where  he  was  to  meet  her. 

Then  comes  the  big  surprise.  The  boy  promptly 
wrote  her,  through  their  go-between,  to  do  nothing 
of  the  sort.  He  said  that  he  loved  her  too  well  to 
let  her  do  anything  unworthy  of  the  best  in  her,  and 
that  while  he  would  marry  her  in  the  end,  in  spite 
of  father  or  mother  or  earth  or  heaven,  he  would  not 
take  his  wife  in  any  clandestine  fashion,  and  that, 
if  possible,  he  would  take  her  from  her  father's 
house  with  her  father's  consent. 

He  reminded  her  that  they  were  both  young  and 

1 08 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

had  many  years  in  which  to  be  happy  together.  He 
said  that  in  realizing  what  she  owed  to  him  and  to 
their  love  for  each  other,  she  must  not  forget  nor 
let  him  forget  what  they  both  owed  to  her  parents. 
He  begged  her  to  be  patient,  to  come  on  this  trip 
cheerfully,  and  to  return  still  loving  him,  arguing 
that  when  her  people  saw  that  neither  time  nor  dis 
tance  made  any  difference  in  that  love,  they  would 
consent  to  the  marriage. 

Anyway,  he  said,  they  must  wait  a  year,  until 
she  was  of  age  and  until  her  parents  had  had  time 
to  see  that  this  was  no  passing  fancy  on  either  side. 
Then,  if  they  still  proved  obdurate,  he  would  ask 
her  to  marry  him  without  their  consent,  but  openly. 
He  would  never  ask  her — nor  permit  her,  if  he  could 
help  it — to  do  anything  sly  or  clandestine,  even 
for  him. 

All  this  came  in  gasps  and  snatches,  while  that 
humiliated,  bewildered,  passionate  child  cried  her 
heart  out  in  the  bitter  telling.  She  didn't  see  the 
nobility  of  it,  nor  the  wisdom.  She  only  felt  that 
she  had  offered  herself  and  been  rejected;  she  had 
loved  and  been  rebuffed ;  she  had  builded  her  house 
of  life  upon  the  quicksands,  and  they  had  swallowed 
it  and  left  her  desolate. 

He  could  reason  calmly,  forsooth !  He  didn't  love 
her!  He  preached  duty — he  didn't  love  her!  He 
counselled  patience — he  didn't  love  her!  A  year — 
an  eternity!  He  wanted  her  father's  consent ?  Ah, 
no;  what  he  really  wanted  was  her  father's  dollars, 
in  addition  to  her  own!  Oh,  but  she  was  bitter! 
Ashes  in  her  mouth  and  thorns  in  her  heart.  Poor, 

109 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

proud,  impulsive,  tempestuous  baby,  what  a  lot 
she'll  have  to  suffer! 

Well!  She  wrote  Mr.  Perry  Waite  a  scorching 
line  or  two,  in  which  she  cast  him  off,  utterly  and 
forever.  She  told  him  that  she  would  never  speak 
to  him  again,  nor  write  to  him,  nor  see  him.  She 
would  return  his  letters  unopened  and  close  her  ears 
to  his  messages.  To  me  she  declared  that  she  didn't 
in  the  least  care  what  became  of  her  now.  What 
did  anything  matter  if  life  was  to  be  like  this  and 
men  like  that? 

She  was  sorry  to  burden  me  with  all  her  sorrow. 
She  had  not  broken  down  at  all  before,  but  I  had 
been  so  good  to  her — "so  heavenly  good  to  me 
that  sometimes  I  have  hated  you!"  she  cried.  She 
implored  me  not  to  tell  her  mother  any  of  this. 
Nobody  must  ever  know,  least  of  all  her  own  fam 
ily.  Then  she  asked  me,  shrinking  and  quiver 
ing,  whether  I  thought  Shafter  Blakeney  had  heard 
the  story,  and  I  was  glad  to  be  able  to  assure 
her  that  he  had  not.  That  comforted  her  a  lit 
tle. 

My  position  was  rather  difficult  all  this  time.  I 
admired  her  lover  tremendously,  but  I  couldn't  tell 
her  so.  I  could  neither  honorably  praise  him  nor 
honestly  censure  him  —  and  there  I  was!  Fortu 
nately,  it  was  not  necessary  for  me  to  say  much  of 
anything.  All  that  was  needed  of  me  just  then  was 
tenderness  and  sympathy  and  comprehension.  The 
time  had  come,  as  I  knew  it  must,  when  nature  de 
manded  a  safety-valve,  and  mercifully,  I  was  there. 
Over  and  over  she  told  the  story,  new  lights  on  it, 

no 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

new  bitternesses  in  it  with  each  recital,  until  finally 
she  wore  herself  out  and  slept. 

I  did  not.  I  lay  broad  awake  through  the  night, 
thinking  about  it  all — about  Dick  and  Helen;  Clark 
and  our  brief  five  months  together;  Berenice  and 
her  strong,  young  lover,  her  pride,  her  imperious 
temper,  her  latent  sweetness  and  strength,  her  final 
confidence  in  me;  Beverley  Ames  and  his  tactless 
persistence — until  it  would  be  hard  to  say  whether, 
when  we  embarked  the  next  day,  I  was  sadder  or 
madder  or  gladder! 

I  thought  about  the  Gaveston  man,  and  wondered 
whether  I  had  been  unjust  to  him.  It  troubled  me 
to  think  that  perhaps  I  had  read  into  his  simplest 
actions  my  own  base  imaginings,  and  that  I  had 
suspected  motives  whose  only  unworthiness  was  in 
my  own  mind.  I  thought  of  Shafter  Blakeney,  and 
wondered  whether  Perry  Waite  was  at  all  like  him. 
I  wondered  what  my  own  life  would  have  been,  and 
what  manner  of  woman  I  should  be  now,  had  Clark 
lived.  I  tried  to  imagine  what  Ned  Barrington 
would  be  like,  and  what  changes  success  and  the 
diplomatic  life  had  wrought  in  him.  I  can't  imag 
ine  any  outward  circumstances  changing  him  very 
much.  He  was  always  so  steady — so  firm  on  his 
feet!  I  have  not  seen  him  for  six  years — not  since 
he  came  home  the  summer  after  Clark  died.  I  do 
hope  he  will  be  in  Rio  when  we  get  there!  But 
always  I  came  back  to  us  three  curiously  yoked 
travellers,  Berenice  and  Beverley  and  me.  What  a 
queer,  tangled  web  we  weave!  I  wonder  how  it 
looks  on  the  right  side? 
8  in 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

In  spite  of  being  exhausted  from  packing,  emo 
tional  stress  and  a  sleepless  night,  I  had  still  enough 
sensibility  left  to  regret  leaving  Lima.  We  were 
just  beginning  to  get  into  the  life  there  a  little,  and 
it  was  really  too  bad  to  come  away  after  these  tan 
talizing  glimpses.  However,  there  is  much  ahead. 
So  we  counted  our  pieces  of  luggage,  prayerfully 
committed  them  to  the  care  of  the  wily  Domingo 
and  a  piratical-looking  fletero,  said  good-bye  to  the 
nice  people  who  had  gathered  to  see  us  off,  and 
took  a  tram  for  Callao,  accompanied  by  one  or  two 
of  our  new  friends,  who  escorted  us  to  the  docks. 

Mr.  Ames  wished  to  send  a  registered  letter,  so 
we  all  went  with  him  to  the  Callao  post-office,  where 
a  funny  old  man  in  the  registry  department  refused 
to  accept  the  letter  because  there  was  no  mail  north 
that  day.  He  told  them  to  bring  it  back  on  a 
Panama  mail  day.  They  finally  prevailed  upon  him 
to  store  it  until  that  time,  however,  and  we  went  our 
way  rejoicing. 

Much  to  our  surprise,  Mr.  Tomlinson,  having 
missed  us  at  the  hotel,  came  out  to  the  ship  to  see 
us  off,  and  consented  to  stay  and  dine  with  us. 
He  was  as  naive  as  ever.  We  were  recalling  a  day 
on  the  other  steamer  when  his  ceaseless  activity 
found  vent  in  angling,  which  resulted  in  our  having 
fish  for  dinner  and  in  his  having  a  blistered  face  for 
days. 

"My  word,  that  sun  did  do  me!"  he  observed. 
"When  I  looked  in  the  glass  next  morning,  I  was 
frightened,  d'ye  see?  I  mean  to  say,  I  thought  I 
had  taken  a  sunstroke!" 

112 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

I  was  even  sorry  to  leave  him,  for  I  shall  never 
look  upon  his  like  again. 

We  found  the  ship  larger  than  the  one  we  came 
down  on,  and  in  certain  respects  more  attractive. 
Our  state-room  is  more  commodious,  though  less 
airy,  and  there  is  more  deck  room.  There  is  a 
library,  and  a  deposit  is  asked  on  all  books  taken 
out,  as  well  as  on  the  keys  to  the  state-rooms.  The 
food  is  not  so  good  as  we  had  before,  as  the  cooking 
is  English — and  bad  English  at  that.  If  there  is 
any  nation  on  earth  that  knows  less  about  the  prep 
aration  of  food  than  we  do,  it  is  our  British  cousins. 
We  have  not  seen  a  stewardess  since  we  left  Colon, 
and  men  do  all  the  chamberwork  in  the  hotels,  as 
well. 

The  officers  are  English,  and  rather  alert.  I  fancy 
any  one  of  them  would  get  at  least  his  share  of  the 
pancake. 

The  Captain,  rosy  and  jovial,  is  something  of  a 
ladies'  man,  fond  of  cards  and  cocktails  and  very 
hospitable.  We  play  bridge  in  his  room  more  or 
less,  and  occasionally  the  men  play  a  little  poker. 
Regularly  twice  a  day,  before  the  eleven -o'clock 
almuerza  and  before  dinner,  we  elders  are  invited 
up  to  his  cabin  "to  see  the  photographs."  If  we 
don't  appear  about  meal-time,  of  our  own  accord, 
he  either  sends  a  boy  or  comes  himself  to  hunt  us 
up,  and  when  we  get  there  we  always  find  the  Cap 
tain  mixing  cocktails.  Very  good  cocktails  they 
are,  too,  though  I  seldom  drink  them. 

We  ran  along  beside  sandy-brown  hills  for  several 
days — wonderful,  tawny,  colorful  sands  they  were, 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

too — when  we  were  not  lying  in  port.  The  first 
day  we  stopped  at  two  little  places.  The  name  of 
the  first  I  do  not  remember;  but  the  second  was 
Pisco,  where  a  very  strong  drink,  a  sort  of  brandy, 
is  made.  We  are  told  that  when  a  man  in  this 
vicinity  gets  drunk  he  is  said  to  have  "gone  to 
Pisco."  We  lay  there  all  night  and  all  the  next  day, 
the  boatmen  being  incredibly  slow  with  their  few 
lanchas. 

The  day  after  that  we  were  off  Chala,  a  tiny 
place  perched  up  on  a  bench  cut  in  a  rugged  promon 
tory.  There  were  big  rocks  lying  outside  and  a 
splendid  surf.  Here  was  unloaded  a  great  quantity 
of  flour,  and  when  a  sack  broke  from  rough  handling, 
or  had  been  gnawed  by  rats,  the  boatmen  pelted 
one  another  in  high  glee.  There  was  one  old  fellow 
who  seemed  to  be  at  once  the  superintendent  and 
the  butt  of  the  lancha  crew,  and  they  not  only 
powdered  him  white  at  every  opportunity,  but 
rubbed  flour  into  his  face  and  through  his  thick, 
black  hair,  laughing  like  children. 

The  swells,  always  high  here,  increased  as  a  stiff 
breeze  came  up  toward  night,  and  waves  frequently 
broke  over  the  lanchas,  sprinkling  the  men  and 
drenching  the  cargo.  Many  supplies  for  the  interior 
were  put  off  here,  and  again  we  saw  the  American 
packing-cases  split  and  shatter,  scattering  their 
contents  as  the  heavy  English  and  German  bales 
were  dropped  on  them.  It  is  humiliating,  under 
these  conditions,  to  see  the  Englishmen  or  Germans 
on  board  exchange  significant,  smiling  glances,  and 
to  hear  them  murmur  to  each  other, ' '  American  goods . ' ' 

114 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

In  the  mean  time,  Berenice,  after  her  long-sup 
pressed  burst  of  emotion,  felt  an  almost  equally  strong 
reaction,  of  course,  and  I  could  see  that  she  shrank 
from  me,  and  knew  that  she  was  hating  herself  for 
having  told  me  her  secret  and  me  for  having  lis 
tened  to  it.  I  had  to  walk  very  warily  between 
warm  sympathy  and  cool,  matter-of-fact  friendli 
ness,  not  to  step  too  far  in  either  direction.  I  knew 
it  would  be  absolutely  fatal  to  seem  to  presume  on 
that  unpremeditated  outburst  of  hers,  and  perhaps 
I  erred  in  being  too  oblivious  of  it.  Still,  she  was 
beginning  to  look  less  as  if  she  was  going  to  shy  vio 
lently  at  my  approach,  and  I  was  getting  ready  to 
hold  out  my  hand  to  her,  ever  so  carefully  and  gen 
tly,  when  we  reached  Mollendo. 

Mollendo  is  the  last  port  in  Peru,  and  about  half 
the  passengers  left  the  ship  there,  to  go  by  rail  up 
into  Bolivia.  It  was  there  that  Mr.  Gaveston  was 
bound  when  he  left  Lima,  and  all  day  his  shadow 
lay  across  my  mind. 

Although  it  is  a  very  important  port,  there  is  no 
harbor,  and  huge  rocks,  with  a  tremendous  surf,  make 
landing  perilous  at  any  time  and  impossible  in 
rough  weather.  A  man  on  board  tells  us  that  he 
once  waited  in  the  town  three  days  before  daring 
to  attempt  to  get  to  his  ship,  and  then  was  almost 
drowned  in  coming  out. 

He  says  that  sometimes  when  a  ship  has  vainly 
waited  a  reasonable  time  for  the  lanchas  to  get  out 
through  the  breakers,  passengers  and  mail  are  trans 
ferred  to  another  steamer  or  a  sailing-vessel  at 
anchor,  and  the  freight  is  carried  on.  The  many 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

rocks,  and  constant,  crashing  surf  would  seem  to 
make  the  rescue  of  capsized  people  impossible,  even 
in  calm  weather  such  as  we  had. 

All  this  was  very  interesting,  and  we  spent  the 
day  in  listening  to  travellers'  tales  of  adventure  in 
landing  at  Mollendo  and  other  dangerous  ports, 
and  in  watching  the  boatmen,  who  are  very  skilful, 
bring  their  lanchas  triumphantly  through  the  big 
seas. 

I  finally  went  in  to  dress  for  dinner,  and  when  I 
came  back  on  deck  again,  there,  against  a  flaming 
sunset  sky,  stood  Cecil  Osmund  Leslie  Gaveston 
talking  to  Berenice! 

He  frankly  admitted  this  time  that  he  had  hoped 
to  find  us  on  board,  and  said  that  when  he  got  to 
Mollendo  he  found  advices  which  kept  him  in  town 
cabling  to  his  London  house,  and  that  eventually  it 
proved  unnecessary  for  him  to  go  up  into  Bolivia  at 
all.  All  this  is  very  plausible,  but  personally  I  do 
not  believe  that  he  ever  intended  going  there.  I 
think  he  has  simply  been  hanging  around  Mollendo, 
waiting  for  us  to  come  along,  though  I  do  not  yet 
understand  the  game  he  plays. 

I  would  like  to  know  what  he  said  to  Berenice  be 
fore  I  appeared,  for  her  slow  glance  and  faint,  flick 
ering,  satirical  smile  as  he  told  his  story  to  me,  held 
something  that  I  couldn't  interpret.  There  was 
certainly  scorn  in  it,  but  whether  for  him  or  for  me 
or  for  herself,  I  couldn't  make  out. 

But  I  was  not  unjust  to  him,  Marion.  I  was 
right.  I'm  sure  of  it  now.  Mr.  Ames  pooh-poohs 
my  apprehensions,  and  tells  me  that  we  are  likely 

116 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

constantly  to  come  across  people  we  have  met  some 
where  along  the  route.  He  further  informed  me  that 
Mr.  Gaveston  was  a  gentleman  and  a  man  of  the 
world,  and  that  if  he  wished  to  "pay  his  addresses" 
to  Berenice  he  would  naturally  present  himself  to 
her  father  for  permission. 

I  reminded  him  that  if  he  first  permitted  the  man 
to  fascinate  the  girl,  her  father's  opinion  in  the  mat 
ter  would  make  very  little  difference,  as  the  Ames 
family  should  have  learned  by  this  time,  at  which 
he  got  very  red  and  said  that  the  whole  thing  was 
absurd,  anyway.  There  had  been  absolutely  noth 
ing  in  Mr.  Gaveston's  words  or  manner  to  warrant 
us  in  supposing  that  he  had  any  intention  of  becom 
ing  Berenice's  suitor,  or  that  there  could  be  the 
slightest  objection  to  it  if  he  did.  Whereupon  I  said, 
very  well;  if  he  wished  to  take  the  responsibility  of 
letting  Berenice  fall  in  love  with  a  foreigner,  of  whose 
position,  habits,  family  and  antecedents  we  knew 
absolutely  nothing  except  what  the  man  himself 
chose  to  tell  us,  of  course  I  had  nothing  further  to 
say,  but  I  wished  it  clearly  understood  that  I  dis 
approved  of  the  whole  affair.  To  which  he  re 
torted  that  there  was  no  "affair,"  and  that  it  was 
ridiculous  to  suppose  that  a  man  of  Mr.  Gaves 
ton's  age  and  opportunities  could  possibly  wish  to 
marry  a  chit  like  Berenice — a  mere  unformed,  un 
ruly  child. 

In  short,  Uncle  Beverley  and  I  came  perilously 
near  quarrelling,  and  then  he  puffed  off  to  Mrs. 
Rankin,  who  is  also  on  board,  with  a  little  old  dried 
up  cousin  as  companion,  and  who  has  developed  an 

117 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

interest  in  the  Civil  War  compared  to  which  mine  is 
as  a  glowworm  to  an  arc-light.  She  is  coquettishly 
childlike,  and  she  fairly  hangs  upon  his  every  word, 
which,  of  course,  fills  him  with  sublime  content. 
Isn't  it  humiliating  that  it  is  so  easy  to  make  a  fool 
of  a  man  if  one  will  stoop  to  it! 

And  there  we  are.  To-morrow  morning  we  are 
due  in  Arica,  the  first  Chilean  port,  where  we  plan 
to  go  ashore  and  where  I  shall  mail  this. 

Heaven  only  knows  what  the  next  few  days  will 
bring  forth — and  yet  there  are  persons  who  long  to 
be  of  the  sort  that  "things  happen  to."  Ye  gods! 


Off  Pisagua,*  Chile,  March  29th. 

Well,  life  is  meandering  along  serenely  enough, 
externally.  We  smile  and  chat  and  exchange  the 
•usual  small  courtesies.  We  sing  a  little,  and  play 
bridge,  and  borrow  one  another's  books  to  read, 
and  if  one  were  not  haunted  by  visions  of  what  this 
path  of  dalliance  may  lead  to,  it  would  all  be  rather 
agreeable. 

I  am  beginning  to  have  a  faint  hope — just  a  lit 
tle,  weeny  one — that  Mr.  Gaveston,  by  his  delay, 
has  lost  his  hold  on  Berenice,  although,  of  course, 
her  apparent  indifference  to  him  may  be  assumed 
to  tantalize  him,  since  it  is  now  very  evident  that 
his  interest  in  her  is  much  more  than  casual. 

He  is  behaving  well,  as  far  as  one  can  see,  and 

*  Pronounced  Pees-ah'-gwa. 
118 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

doesn't  force  himself  or  his  attentions  upon  her, 
but  he  is  always  alert,  ready  to  respond  to  her 
slightest  glance,  and  when  she  is  present,  he  is  at 
his  very  best.  Again  he  is  displaying  the  patience 
of  the  accustomed  hunter,  but  this  time  he  is  more 
zealous,  and — naturally — I  am  alarmed  for  her.  Al 
most  any  girl  is  impressed  when  a  man  who  is  con 
siderably  her  senior — Gaveston  is  probably  between 
thirty  and  thirty-five — and  who  has  been  all  over 
the  world  and  seen  everything,  singles  her  out  for 
his  devotion.  She  has  to  have  a  pretty  steady 
head  to  withstand  that  sort  of  flattery;  and  when 
the  man  has  the  additional  advantage  of  aristocratic 
connection  and  ancestral  glories,  and  the  girl  is 
quivering  and  smarting  from  the  wounds  inflicted 
by  a  younger,  less-experienced  man,  it  seems  to  me 
there  is  but  one  outcome  probable,  particularly 
when  the  two  are  thrown  together  day  after  day, 
hour  after  hour,  as  these  two  must  be  here. 

The  one  gleam  of  hope  that  I  see,  aside  from  her 
present  lack  of  interest  in  him,  is  that  she  has  re 
lieved  her  heart  somewhat  in  her  confession  to  me, 
and  this,  together  with  the  fact  that  I,  who  know 
her  story,  am  watching  her,  may  restrain  her  a  lit 
tle,  even  though  I,  too,  seem  to  have  lost  what 
small  influence  I  had  gained  over  her.  She  has 
retired  within  herself  again,  and  regards  me  through 
sullen,  hostile  eyes,  from  a  great  distance — which  I 
pretend  not  to  notice. 

I  think  I  shall  write  very  fully  to  Helen  about 
the  affair  now.  I  have  not  done  so  before  for  two 
reasons.  One  was  the  time  it  would  take  for  a 

119 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

letter  to  reach  her.  Mr.  Gaveston  has  always  been 
on  the  point  of  leaving  us  permanently,  and  it 
seemed  useless  and  cruel  to  distress  her  about  some 
thing  that  would  be  over  before  she  learned  of  it.  The 
other  was  that  Mr.  Ames  is  supposed  to  be  watching 
over  the  child's  welfare.  I  especially  refused  to 
accept  any  such  responsibility  and  have  really  no 
right  to  interfere. 

He,  by-the-way,  is  very  affable  indeed,  though  I 
see  less  of  him  than  usual,  as  he  spends  much  time 
with  Mrs.  Rankin,  who  has  the  wisdom  of  the  ser 
pent  and  eyes  all  over  her  head  like  a  fly,  and  who 
seems  to  have  captivated  him  completely.  I  am 
beginning  to  wonder  what  the  lady  wants.  Surely 
all  this  can't  be  purely  for  joy  in  his  conversation! 
He  is  just  the  kind  of  man  to  prove  a  useful  tool 
to  that  sort  of  woman.  However,  he's  old  enough 
to  take  care  of  himself. 

Yesterday  morning  we  anchored  off  Arica,*  the 
first  port  in  Chile,  and  all  went  ashore — Mrs.  Rankin, 
Mr.  Gaveston,  Uncle  Beverley,  Berenice  and  I.  It 
is  an  unusually  pretty  town,  as  these  towns  go, 
with  a  flower-filled  plaza,  surrounded  by  fine,  big 
pepper-trees.  Above  the  plaza  sits  a  bright  pink 
church,  made  of  candy  and  cut  out  by  a  jig-saw, 
and  as  it  was  Sunday,  after  mass,  the  populace  was 
promenading  in  the  little  park,  to  the  strains  of  a 
small  and  very  bad  brass-band ;  girls  in  gay-colored 
gowns,  with  veils  or  mantillas  or  mantos  over  their 
heads,  strolling  by  twos  and  threes,  sometimes  with 

*  Pronounced  A-ree-ka. 
1 20 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

a  duenna  trailing  along  behind,  while  groups  of  young 
men  ogled  them  as  they  passed. 

Away  from  the  plaza  and  the  lower  part  of  the 
town  the  streets  are  treeless  and  sun-baked,  and 
the  houses  are  chiefly  tiny,  one-storied  affairs  paint 
ed  pink  and  blue  and  pale  green,  flat-roofed  and  un 
tiled,  as  this  is  still  the  "rainless  coast." 

Around  and  above  the  town  lie  huge,  bare,  moun 
tainous  piles  of  dry,  brown  sand,  and  over  them, 
fairly  floating  in  the  cloudless  blue,  three  ethereal, 
snowy  peaks — the  first  we  have  seen.  Jutting  out 
into  the  ocean,  just  below  the  little  city,  is  a  sheer, 
Gibraltar-like  promontory  called  Morro,  where  one 
of  the  greatest  battles  of  the  war  was  fought,  and 
from  the  top  of  which  now  floats  the  single-starred 
flag  of  Chile. 

Probably  because  of  some  Chilean  health  regula 
tion,  the  ship  was  fumigated  yesterday,  and  all  day 
we  were  choking  and  sneezing  in  the  stray  sulphur 
fumes.  The  officer  on  the  bridge  caught  it  first, 
and  sneezed  four  funny  little  sneezes  in  rapid  suc 
cession,  absurdly  like  a  cat — "Ktz!  Ktz!  Ktz! 
KkttzzT  And  he's  such  a  big  man,  too! 

I  was  next  in  line,  and  paid  my  tribute  fervently. 
Then  I  heard  Uncle  Beverley,  who  is  not  so  big  as 
he  sometimes  feels,  waking  the  echoes  about  Morro 
with  his  tremendous  salvo — "a-Katch-oh!  a-Katch- 
oh!"  He  yielded  an  admiral's  salute  and  then 
went  precipitately  below — but  that  availed  him 
nothing.  The  fumes  were  there  before  him,  and 
we  heard  his  imposing  response. 

All  this  set  me  to  wondering  about  the  psycho- 

121 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

logical  significance  of  the  sneeze.  Do  you  suppose 
that  as  a  man  sneezeth,  so  in  his  heart  of  hearts 
doth  he  believe  himself  to  be?  Because  I  know 
that  the  officer  who  was  on  the  bridge,  although  an 
Englishman,  is  a  singularly  modest  chap. 

All  the  afternoon  we  ran  close  beside  high,  steep 
cliffs  of  a  soft  brown,  profusely  streaked  with  cop 
pery-red  sand  and  slate-gray  rock,  with  here  and 
there  a  metallic  greenish  tinge  and  frequent  touches 
of  yellow.  Now  and  then  the  rocks  near  the  water 
gleamed  white,  and  we  were  told  that  this  was 
guano.  We  saw  many  seals  and  there  are  still 
thousands  of  birds. 

It  is  very  beautiful  in  color,  all  this  rainless 
coast,  and  grows  more  so  as  we  go  south.  These 
strange,  chromatic  cliffs,  in  the  bright  afterglow  last 
night,  seemed  to  be  actually  luminous,  and  shone 
with  an  unearthly  amethystine  radiance.  With  all 
the  west  aflame,  these  softly  lucent  cliffs  to  the 
east,  and  the  slow-rolling  Pacific  between,  reflecting 
and  lending  broken  sheen  to  every  changing  tint, 
the  picture  was  sufficiently  soul-stirring  without  the 
added  poignancy  of  the  evening-star  dropping  in 
pure  glory  to  the  horizon. 

The  cliffs  along  here  are  so  high  that  I  thought 
them  mountainous  in  character,  but  I  am  told 
that  from  their  tops  the  land  stretches  away  in 
wide,  rolling  plains,  the  "pampas,"  where  lie  the 
nitrate  fields — and  the  wealth — of  Chile. 

Pisagua,  built  on  one  of  the  rare  slopes  of  the 
cliffs — generally  they  do  not  slope  at  all  but  drop 
sheer  to  the  sea  —  looked  very  attractive  as  we 

122 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

came  to  it  late  last  night,  the  huge  cliffs  looming 
purply  black  behind  its  many  electric  lights,  of 
which  the  deep-blue,  star-sprinkled  heavens  seemed 
only  a  slightly  paler  reflection.  A  band  was  playing 
gayly  somewhere,  and  sounds  of  human  life — voices, 
laughter,  the  bark  of  a  dog — floated  out  to  us  across 
the  waters.  But  this  morning  the  black,  mysterious 
background  is  dull,  yellow-gray  sand,  and  the  town 
a  little  dingier  and  more  squalid  than  most.  A 
young  American  who  came  on  board  at  Mollendo 
has  been  ashore,  and  returns  reporting  the  village 
"the  limit,"  though  he  says  he  did  see  two  trees — 
painted  on  a  screen !  Diligent  search  with  a  power 
ful  glass  has  failed  to  reveal  to  me  one  single  grow 
ing  sprig. 

More  people  come  aboard  and  at  least  one  or  two 
leave  the  ship  at  almost  every  port.  There  are  no 
chattering  parrots  now,  but  their  absence  is  more 
than  atoned  for,  both  in  numbers  and  in  noise,  by 
the  children. 

There  is  also  the  usual  queer  dressing.  The  gem 
of  this  collection  is  a  buxom  widow,  fair,  fat,  and 
not  far  from  forty,  whose  hair  is  elaborately  and 
perfectly  dressed,  whose  corsetiere  is  an  artist,  whose 
complexion  is  carefully  re-created  each  day,  and 
who  frequently  wears  a  long  kimono  of  pale-blue 
crepe,  covered  with  flying  white  storks  and  banded 
in  lavender.  This  garment,  which  comes  to  her 
feet,  is  half -fitted,  suggesting  but  not  fully  revealing 
her  opulent  curves,  and  to  lend  the  necessary  touch 
of  mystery,  she  has  always  about  her  —  over  her 
head,  or  around  her  neck,  or  fluttering  in  her  hands — 

123 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

a  long,  filmy  scarf  of  sky-blue  chiffon.  I  was  much 
interested  in  this  costume  when  I  saw  it  on  the 
lower  deck,  but  I  confess  I  gasped  a  little  when 
she  appeared  at  dinner  in  it. 

This  matches  the  lady  whom  I  saw  dining  with 
some  of  the  diplomatic  set  at  the  hotel  in  Lima, 
festively  arrayed  in  a  white  silk  negligee;  or  the 
woman  —  unmistakably  American  —  whom  I  once 
met  in  Twenty-third  Street,  suitably  hatted  and 
booted  and  gloved,  and  luxuriously  wrapped,  by 
way  of  a  cloak,  in  a  blanket  bath-robe.  When  it 
comes  to  "  idiot syncrasies"  in  dress,  one  must  not 
forget  the  possibilities  of  our  own  dear  land. 

It  is  getting  cooler  every  day,  and  I  am  glad  of 
a  light  wrap  and  a  rug  on  deck  at  night,  though  if 
one  goes  ashore  it  is  still  very  warm.  I  have  diffi 
culty  in  realizing  that  it  is  almost  April  and  that 
we  are  going  toward  winter,  when  with  you  spring 
is  hardly  well  begun.  It  is  also  hard  to  believe  that 
although  we  are  in  the  Pacific  Ocean,  we  have  been 
for  some  time  in  the  longitude  of  New  York,  and 
that  we  are  now  travelling  east  of  south.  We  can 
see  this  any  night,  however,  for  the  ship's  bow  points 
to  the  left  of  the  Southern  Cross. 

This  constellation,  by-the-way,  like  matrimony, 
evidently  depends  for  its  beauty  upon  the  angle  of 
vision.  You  remember  that  when  I  first  saw  it 
I  said,  in  effect,  "  'Tain't  much!"  But  as  I  watch 
it,  night  after  night,  climbing  higher  in  these  splen 
did  heavens,  its  charm  grows  upon  me,  and  I  am 
coming  to  love  it  almost  as  well  as  I  do  our  own 
Big  Dipper. 

124 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Every  evening  I  lie  in  my  chair  on  the  uncovered 
boat -deck,  wondering  why  these  southern  night 
skies  are  so  much  bluer  and  so  much  more  brilliant 
than  ours,  and  all  the  poetry  I  ever  knew  comes 
back  to  me — oftenest,  I  think,  the  most  familiar: 

"Look  how  the  floor  of  heaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  gold: 
There's  not  the  smallest  orb  which  thou  behold'st 
But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings, 
Still  quiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherubims." 

How  many  lovers'  hearts  must  have  been  "cut 
out  in  little  stars"  to  "make  the  face  of  heaven  so 
fine"  down  here!  I  wonder  whether  scraps  of 
Gaveston's  heart  would  shine  that  way?  Or  Uncle 
Beverley's  ? 

I  might  just  as  well  confess,  Marion,  that  I  am 
worried  about  Uncle  Beverley.  I  try  to  shrug  my 
shoulders  and  say  it's  none  of  my  business — and  I 
hope  it  isn't,  but  I'm  afraid  it  is. 

Anyway,  I  do  hate  to  see  a  good  man,  even  though 
he's  not  particularly  my  kind  of  a  man,  play  the 
mouse  in  feline,  feminine  claws,  and  I  believe  that 
woman  is  trying  to  marry  him.  Which,  as  I  said 
before,  is  none  of  my  business,  as  he  is  doubtless  old 
enough  to  take  care  of  himself — only,  somehow,  age 
doesn't  seem  to  figure  very  largely  in  things  of  this 
sort. 

And  the  fact  remains,  when  all  is  said,  that  Bever 
ley  Ames  started  on  this  trip  a  well-seasoned,  self- 
satisfied  bachelor,  with  a  long  -  established  record 
of  being  devoted  to  his  business,  his  club  and  his 

125 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

hobby,  and  perfectly  indifferent  to  women.  For 
reasons  which  seemed  good  at  the  moment  —  and 
which,  Heaven  knows,  were  sufficiently  imperson 
al!  —  I  deliberately  set  about  changing  his  point 
of  view  so  far' as  I  was  concerned.  I  succeeded  be 
yond  my  wildest  dreams,  and  now  I  would  give 
much  to  stop  the  avalanche  my  pebble  started. 

Of  course,  I  am  not  cherishing  any  sentimental 
notion  that,  at  his  age,  he  is  romantically  in  love 
with  me  or  anything  of  that  sort,  but  my  inoppor 
tune  meddling  did  arouse  in  him,  however  inad 
vertently,  that  long-stilled  yearning,  latent  in  every 
good  man,  for  wife  and  home  and  ain  fireside,  and 
when  I  had  done  this,  I  refused  to  help  him  satisfy  it. 

Then,  with  these  alluring  visions  of  domestic  felic 
ity  still  filling  his  mind,  but  a  little  jarred  and 
chilled  and  bruised  by  my  rejection  of  him,  he  falls 
into  the  hands  of  a  woman  who  purrs  over  him, 
flatters  him  softly,  soothes  his  hurt  pride  and 
arouses  his  chivalrous  sympathy  for  a  poor  little 
soul  battling  alone  against  a  cruel  world.  You 
know  how  it  is  done.  We've  all  seen  it  more  than 
once. 

Because  he  is  not  in  love  with  a  woman,  but  with 
an  ideal,  it  will  be  very  easy  for  her  to  slip,  in  his 
dreams,  into  the  vacant  chair  on  the  other  side  of 
that  warm  hearthstone,  and  one  of  these  days  he'll 
find  himself  married  to  her.  Then  she'll  play  with 
him  awhile  before  tearing  his  smooth,  gray  fur  and 
crunching  his  bones  in  her  sharp  little  teeth. 

It's  all  very  well  to  say  that  he's  a  man,  with  a 
man's  knowledge  of  the  world,  the  flesh  and  the 

126 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

devil,  and  ought  to  know  his  own  mind.  Of  course 
he  ought — but  does  he?  And  if  he  doesn't,  whc 
befuddled  him? 

I  tell  myself  that  all  this  is  sheer,  monumental 
egotism,  and  that  he  certainly  knows  better  than  I 
possibly  can  whether  his  happiness  demands  that 
particular  kind  of  wife ;  but  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I 
know  perfectly  well  that  if  I  had  not  first  sys 
tematically  and  laboriously  broken  down  his  walls, 
he  would  never  have  discovered  that  this  woman 
inhabits  the  earth. 

You  see,  normally  he  is  an  Ames,  through  and 
through,  and  I  know  pretty  well  the  Ames  point  of 
view — the  Ames  ideals  and  traditions  and  grasp  of 
life.  I  have  spent  some  years  learning  them,  and 
I  assure  you  that  none  of  them  ever  included  any 
thing  remotely  resembling  Mrs.  Mabel  Mills  Ran- 
kin.  She  is  impossible,  Marion — perfectly  impos 
sible!  I  know,  too,  that  nobody  would  recognize 
this  fact  more  quickly  than  he  would  if  he  saw  her 
in  another  environment — in  his  own  environment — 
or  if  I  hadn't,  in  my  folly,  set  him  to  dreaming 
dreams  and  seeing  visions  that  have  no  more  to  do 
with  her  than  they  had  to  do  with  me. 

And  he  doesn't  see  her  in  his  normal  environment 
— that's  the  mischief  of  it!  He  sees  her  in  hers, 
and  he  wants  to  lift  her  out  of  it.  And  the  very 
instant  that  the  situation  gets  beyond  her,  the  in 
stant  that  one  of  us  leads  where  she  can't  follow, 
that  instant  she  plays  upon  his  sympathy,  or  his 
vanity,  or  his  hobby — and  then  it's  all  over  with 
Uncle  Beverley  for  that  time. 
9  127 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

And  outwardly  she's  well  enough — if  one  makes 
allowances  in  a  Christian  spirit.  I  have  said  that 
she  is  rather  young  and  rather  pretty.  If  one  were 
to  suggest  that  she  is  also  rather  overdressed,  the 
obvious  retort  would  be  that  she  is  doing  business 
in  countries  where  elaborate  toilettes  are  the  rule, 
even  for  street  wear,  and  that  it  is  to  her  advan 
tage  to  appear  always  prosperous. 

Of  course  she  knows  as  well  how  I  regard  her  as 
I  know  that  she  is  more  than  a  little  afraid  of  me, 
and  she  is  conducting  herself  with  great  circum 
spection,  generally  covering  quickly  any  lapses  of 
which  she  may  suspect  herself  in  taste  or  knowl 
edge — and  I  will  say  for  her  that  she  knows  her 
weak  points  pretty  well.  Naturally,  she  is  clever 
enough,  also;  to  see  that  her  strongest  suit,  after 
her  enthusiasm  for  the  Civil  War,  is  her  single- 
handed  battle  for  existence,  and  she  plays  it  effec 
tively,  if  a  trifle  crudely.  Here  a  slight,  sighing, 
softly  envious  allusion  to  "you  fortunate  women 
who  can  live  at  home,"  there  a  murmur  of  regret 
for  the  methods  and  weapons  a  woman  must  learn 
to  use  if  she  is  forced  to  fight  men,  or  for  the  loss 
of  illusion  that  business  life  entails.  At  such  mo 
ments  Uncle  Beverley  bends  upon  her  a  glowing, 
sympathetic  glance,  and  his  always  courteous  man 
ner  becomes  especially  deferential  toward  her. 

Now,  the  question  is,  What  shall  I  do  ?  Shall  I  sit 
supinely  by  and  see  this  woman  complete  the  catas 
trophe  I  made  possible  ?  Shall  I  let  a  man  fatuously 
walk  into  an  abyss  to  the  brink  of  which  I  led  him, 
because  his  life  is  his  own  to  throw  away  if  he  likes  ? 

128 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

I'd  hate  to  think  that  I'm  getting  to  be  one  of  those 
offensive,  officious  persons  who  tries  to  manage  the 
universe,  but  how  can  I  see  a  proud,  well-born,  well- 
bred,  chivalrous  gentleman  fooled  to  the  top  of  his 
bent  without  putting  out  a  hand  to  save  him? 

And  yet,  what  can  I  do?  A  man  takes  great 
credit  to  himself  for  protecting  a  woman  from  a 
scoundrel,  but  he  gives  her  small  thanks  for  trying 
to  save  him  from  a  vampire  that  he  mistakes  for  a 
butterfly — a  lovely,  paradoxical,  hard-working  but 
terfly!  If  I  do  put  out  a  hand,  he  is  sure  to  mis 
understand  it.  If  he  sees  its  purpose,  all  the  lord- 
of-creation  in  him  will  rise  to  resent  it;  and  if  he 
doesn't  see  its  purpose,  he's  going  to  think — Heaven 
save  the  mark! — that  I  am  jealous  and  want  him 
for  my  very  own.  And  in  either  case,  if  she  is  real 
ly  bent  on  marrying  him,  I  might  fail,  which  would 
be  humiliating — not  that  my  pride  would  matter 
much  if  I  could  save  him  to  himself.  But  after  all 
that  has  happened,  I  would  mightily  hate  to  give 
him  the  impression  that  I  was  trying  to  save  him 
for  wyself! 

If  I  believed  for  an  instant  that  any  of  this  really 
touched  the  man's  deeper  emotions,  I'd — well,  I 
don't  know  what  I'd  do.  In  that  case  I  might  even 
resort  to  the  last  impossible  possibility,  gird  up  my 
loins,  descend  into  the  dust  of  the  arena  and  fight 
for  him. 

I  should  emerge  from  the  conflict  somewhat  soiled 
in  my  own  sight,  to  be  sure,  but  I  could  at  least  claim 
one  thing  for  myself  over  my  antagonist.  If  I  won 
— which  it  is  by  no  means  certain  that  I  should — I 

129 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

would  be  too  decent  to  marry  him  in  the  end.  I'd 
give  him  back  his  life,  plus  a  few  scars,  perhaps, 
but  his  own.  I  might  wound  his  pride,  but  I 
wouldn't  drag  it  in  the  dust.  I  might  hurt  him  a 
little,  but  I  wouldn't  humiliate  him.  I  should  prob 
ably  lose  his  friendship  and  his  respect — and  I  really 
care  for  both — but  at  least  I'd  save  him  his  self- 
respect.  And  nothing  I  should  lose  would  hurt  me 
so  much  as  to  feel  that  his  old  age  had  been  robbed 
of  its  peace  because  I  made  this  thing  possible. 

But  I  do  not  believe  that  his  deeper  emotions  are 
touched — and  you  needn't  wag  your  head  at  me, 
either!  I  am  not  making  the  common,  arrogant, 
feminine  mistake  of  claiming  to  understand  a  man. 
The  only  person  I  pretend  to  understand  rather 
fully  in  this  matter  is  the  woman,  and  she  is  a  car 
nivorous  little  cat  mercilessly  stalking  her  prey. 

Just  the  same,  I  don't  believe  that  any  fussy, 
prosy  bachelor  person  of  fifty  or  thereabout,  steeped 
in  the  conventions  and  habits  of  a  lifetime,  is  going 
to  conceive  in  a  week — or  a  month — a  consuming 
romantic  passion  for  a  woman  he  never  saw  before, 
particularly  if  that  bachelor  person  be  an  Ames. 
He  might  be  infatuated,  charmed,  as  a  bird  is  by 
a  snake,  and  gobbled  immediately  thereafter — a 
denouement  gratifying,  doubtless,  to  the  snake, 
but  you  needn't  tell  me  the  bird  enjoys  it! 

Or  possibly  an  old  love  might  be  revived.  But 
that  he  should  be  obsessed  by  a  brand-new  one — 
nay,  nay!  It  is  simply  the  result  of  environment — 
of  propinquity,  that  tremendous  passive  force — of 
the  falling  of  a  kindly,  unsuspicious  man  into  the 

130 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

hands  of  two  designing  women — and  one  of  them 
Anne  Pomeroy! 

There  I  come  back  to  it!  I  meant  well,  but  I 
can't  get  around  the  fact  that  I  deliberately  started 
the  little  innocent-looking  wheels  that  set  this 
whole  machine  in  motion,  and  somebody's  going  to 
get  hurt  if  I  can't  manage  to  stop  it. 

If  he  can  only  get  back  to  New  York,  back  to  his 
office  and  his  club  and  his  own  people,  without  en 
tangling  himself  hopelessly,  he'll  see  straight  again, 
and  all  this  will  seem  like  a  fantastic  dream.  But 
in  the  mean  time —  ? 

Forgive  me  for  thrusting  all  this  at  you.  Long 
before  this  reaches  you  I  shall  have  had  to  answer 
some  of  these  questions  for  myself,  but  it  helps  me 
even  to  think  to  you  with  a  pen ;  and  what  wouldn't 
I  give  for  one  hour's  talk  with  you,  you  clear-eyed, 
sweet-hearted  woman  of  the  world! 

This  will  be  mailed  to-morrow  at  Iquique,  where 
we  shall  go  ashore,  and  where  I  hope  for  at  least  a 
glimpse  of  Shafter  Blakeney.  If  I  thought  it  would 
be  of  the  slightest  avail,  I  should  beg  Mr.  Ames  to 
stop  over  there,  thus  giving  the  slip  both  to  Mr. 
Gaveston  and  to  Mrs.  Rankin;  but  I  know  quite 
well  that  he  would  refuse  even  to  consider  it,  for  he 
is  making  every  effort  to  finish  his  business  on  this 
coast  in  time  to  cross  the  Cordillera,  and  a  delay  of 
a  week  or  ten  days  here,  waiting  for  another  steamer, 
would  mean  that  the  Pass  would  close  before  we 
could  possibly  be  ready  to  leave  Chile.  We  are  in 
danger  of  being  too  late  as  it  is. 

Besides,  as  Gaveston  avowedly  has  no  business 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

down  here  beyond  seeing  the  country,  he  would 
probably  pack  up  on  five  minutes'  notice  and  go 
ashore  with  us,  and  we  should  find  Mrs.  Rankin 
waiting  for  us  on  the  dock  at  Valparaiso. 

Oh,  Marion,  I'm  so  tired  of  this  game!  My 
dolly's  all  limp  and  wopsy,  and  there's  a  horrid 
mess  on  the  floor  where  the  sawdust  has  run  out. 
Let's  play  something  else. 

#  *  * 

Later. — There  is  a  smug  little  sentiment  that  has 
been  used  in  every  quotation  calendar  and  book  of 
Helpful  Hints  for  Willing  Workers  for  the  last 
twenty  years  or  so,  to  the  effect  that  sooner  or  later, 
as  you  are  ready  for  it,  you  will  find  what  you  need 
in  a  book  or  a  sermon. 

Browsing  among  the  Captain's  books  to-night 
while  the  rest  played  bridge,  I  came  upon  a  copy  of 
the  Just  So  Stories  hidden  away  in  a  dark  corner. 
1  fell  upon  it  with  glee,  and  in  renewing  my  ac 
quaintance  with  the  Elephant's  Child,  I  lit  upon 
this  gem. 

You  remember  that  the  "tidy  pachyderm"  was 
filled  with  a  "  'satiable  curtiosity"  to  find  out  what 
the  crocodile  had  for  supper,  and  in  the  course  of 
his  investigations,  found  his  nose  caught  in  the  croc 
odile's  teeth,  with  every  prospect  of  immediately 
following  his  nose.  He  planted  his  feet  and  pulled, 
but  he  felt  his  legs  slipping,  and  he  said:  "This  is 
too  butch  for  be." 

"Then  the  Bi-Colored-Python-Rock  Snake  came 
down  from  the  bank  and  knotted  himself  in  a 
double -clove  hitch  round  the  Elephant's  Child's 

132 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

hind  legs,  and  said:  'Rash  and  inexperienced  trav 
eller,  we  will  now  seriously  devote  ourselves  to  a 
little  high  tension,  because  if  we  do  not,  it  is  my 
impression  that  yonder  self-propelling  man-of-war 
with  the  armor -plated  upper  deck'  (and  by  this, 
O  Best  Beloved,  he  meant  the  Crocodile)  '  will  per 
manently  vitiate  your  future  career." 

But  we  are  not  told  what  the  Bi-Colored-P.-R.  S. 
would  have  done  had  he  been  a  lady  Rock  Snake, 
whose  hand  had  been  previously  sought  in  marriage 
by  that  same  tidy  pachyderm.  Do  you  think  she 
would  have  let  the  Crocodile  have  him  for  supper, 
lest,  if  she  pulled  him  away,  his  "  'satiable  " — well, 
call  it  "  curtiosity" — should  lead  him  to  misunder 
stand  her  motive  in  the  rescue? 

Off  Tocopia,*  Chile,  April  ist. 

My,  my,  w'ot  a  time  we've  been  a-'avin!  I  am 
still  laughing  over  the  memories  of  our  visit  to 
Iquique,  when,  between  the  Blakeney  boy  and  the 
American  Consul,  we  had  the  merriest  day  we  have 
yet  spent — really  merry,  in  spite  of  all  the  tangle 
we  are  in. 

Have  I  told  you  that  this  Consul  is  that  talented 
brother  of  Mrs.  Cutler  Giles  of  whom  we  have  heard 
so  much — Vanderlyn  Lowe?  She  had  written  him 
that  we  were  coming,  and  had  given  me  a  letter  to 
him,  which  I  forwarded  from  Lima.  In  addition  to 
all  this,  he  and  the  Blakeney  boy  have  become  very 

*  Pronounced  To-co-pee-ah. 
133 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

friendly  during  the  time  Shafter  has  been  in  Iquique; 
so  you  see,  our  welcome  was  well  prepared. 

We  started  ashore  rather  early  in  the  morning, 
Mr.  Gaveston  and  Mrs.  Rankin,  of  course,  accom 
panying  us;  Mrs.  Beaver,  the  companion  cousin,  re 
mained  on  board.  On  the  way  in,  while  threading 
our  way  among  big,  surf -washed  rocks,  upon  which 
sat  rows  of  pelicans  looking  like  solemn  brown  friars, 
we  met  Mr.  Blakeney,  a  Chilean  friend  of  his  named 
Cortez,  and  Mr.  Lowe,  coming  out  to  meet  us. 

Blakeney  had  his  luggage,  as  he  had  arranged  to 
take  this  ship  and  go  on  to  Chile  with  us,  whereat 
Uncle  Beverley  frowned  anxiously  —  you've  heard 
of  people  who  strain  at  a  gnat  and  swallow  a  camel  ? 
— Berenice  preserved  an  absolutely  unmoved  counte 
nance,  and  I  was  torn  'twixt  fear  lest  his  presence 
should  disturb  her  and  exceeding  great  joy  that  I 
was  again  to  have  a  congenial  spirit  near. 

So  Mr.  Lowe  came  over  into  our  boat,  and  Blake 
ney,  with  his  friend,  went  on  to  the  ship,  rejoining 
us  later  at  the  consulate,  a  cheerful  little  room  with 
American  files  and  furnishings,  pictures  of  our  first 
and  latest  Presidents,  and  many  volumes  of  Con 
sular  Reports. 

While  we  waited  there  a  couple  of  negroes  came 
in,  and  Mr.  Lowe  talked  with  them  awhile,  after 
which  he  gave  them  money,  laughingly  saying  to 
us:  "Another  drain  on  the  consular  purse."  He 
says  that  he  spends  about  ten  per  cent,  of  his  salary 
in  helping  penniless  Americans  out  of  town,  and 
that  while  he  really  ought  not  to  do  it,  he  doesn't 
quite  see  what  else  he  can  do, 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

"The  men  are  here,  up  against  it,"  he  said,  "and 
their  only  hope  is  to  get  away." 

That's  it,  Marion!  What  else  can  one  do  when 
people  are  "up  against  it"  but  help  them  if  one 
can,  even  though  the  only  way  to  do  it  is  one  rep 
rehensible  in  itself  ?  Does  the  end  justify  the  means  ? 

When  Blakeney  came  in  he  gave  us  a  vivid  ac 
count  of  the  reign  of  terror  in  Iquique  during  a 
recent  strike,  concerning  which  the  Consul  had  been, 
and  remained,  discreetly  and  diplomatically  silent. 

We  had  heard  all  sorts  of  lurid  reports  about  it 
on  the  way  down,  not  much  exaggerated  except  as 
to  the  number  killed.  Blakeney  said  that  about 
fifteen  thousand  men  came  in  from  the  pampas — 
the  nitrate  fields — and  that  they  soon  had  town 
laborers  to  the  number  of  five  thousand  more  with 
them.  Thus,  in  this  little  city  of  forty  thousand 
inhabitants,  there  were  twenty  thousand  men  or 
ganized  for  trouble.  They  were  well  organized,  too; 
and  while  they  were  orderly  enough  in  their  be 
havior,  only  marching  and  holding  meetings,  their 
plans  were  definite,  as  you  will  presently  see. 

For  eight  days  they  had  full  possession  of  the 
town.  They  managed  the  railroad  and  issued  passes 
to  people  who  wished  to  leave  by  ship.  All  the 
fleteros  and  wharf-men  were  with  them,  the  tram- 
cars  were  tied  up,  the  cabmen  were  under  their  con 
trol,  and  it  was  impossible  to  get  away  from  the 
town  without  their  permission.  The  people  were 
terrorized,  and  lived  behind  shuttered  windows  and 
fast-nailed  doors. 

There  were  troops  at  hand,  but  the  authorities 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

had  not  much  confidence  in  them,  as  they  were 
conscripts.  The  only  defence  they  could  really  rely 
upon  was  about  two  hundred  marines  from  a  war 
ship  at  anchor  in  the  roadstead  and  their  machine- 
gun,  both  of  which  were  eventually  called  into  ac 
tion.  Mr.  Blakeney  gave  me  a  wonderful  set  of 
photographs  taken  by  an  English  friend  of  his  at 
the  time,  showing  the  mob  of  marching  strikers  fill 
ing  the  street  from  wall  to  wall;  of  the  marines 
dragging  their  gun,  with  which,  a  few  moments 
later,  they  did  such  terrible  execution;  and  of  the 
piles  of  dead  in  the  plaza  when  it  was  over. 

The  headquarters  of  the  strikers  was  a  school- 
house,  where  they  had  hoisted  the  flags  of  all  na 
tions,  believing  that  the  authorities  would  not  dare 
fire  upon  these  emblems.  Large  numbers  of  the 
men  were  gathered  about  the  gate  of  this  place,  and 
within  there  were  thousands  of  them,  when,  after 
some  parley,  the  General  commanding  the  troops 
appealed  to  them,  calling  them  brothers,  pleading 
with  them,  and  reminding  them  that  he  was  under 
military  orders  which  he  must  obey. 

They  refused  to  surrender,  and  he  immediately 
gave  the  order  to  fire.  The  machine-gun  was  plant 
ed  about  seventy-five  feet  from  the  gate — we  after 
ward  visited  the  spot — and  was  aimed  directly  at 
it,  and  the  strikers  were  mowed  down  like  grass, 
the  destruction  being  the  more  awful  because  a 
good  many  of  them  carried  dynamite  in  their  pockets. 
Later,  it  took  the  authorities  fifteen  minutes  to  clear 
away  the  pile  of  dead  before  the  gate,  in  order  to 
enter  the  enclosure. 

136 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

This  ended  the  strike,  but  on  the  bodies  of  some 
of  the  dead,  plans  were  discovered  showing  that  a 
large  charge  of  dynamite  had  been  placed  under 
the  water-main  some  distance  from  town,  which  was 
afterward  found.  At  the  appointed  hour  fires  were 
to  be  started  in  five  places,  the  water-supply  was  to 
be  cut  off,  the  town  was  to  be  looted,  and  the  for 
eign  residents,  at  least,  massacred.  "  Down  with  the 
English!"  (meaning  English-speaking  people)  was 
on  every  tongue.  All  this  was  to  have  been  put 
into  effect  at  eight  o'clock  that  evening,  and  at  four 
the  troops  fired  upon  the  mob  and  saved  the  city. 
Such,  at  least,  is  the  tale  as  Blakeney  heard  it. 

Of  course,  this  was  a  splendid  opening  for  Uncle 
Beverley,  who  was  soon  galloping  hot-foot  through 
the  second  battle  of  Bull  Run.  The  rest  of  us — 
except  Mrs.  Rankin,  who  seemed  literally  entranced 
—looked  at  the  photographs  and  sandwiched  in 
occasional  questions  about  the  strike.  Finally, 
when,  having  finished  with  Bull  Run  and  Chancel- 
lorsville,  he  began:  "Now,  at  Gettysburg—  '  some 
one  ruthlessly  suggested  a  drive,  which  was  hailed 
with  loud  acclaim. 

Accordingly,  we  all  piled  into  a  couple  of  cabs — 
open  victorias — and  set  forth.  That  sounds  very 
simple,  but  I  wish  I  could  give  you  an  idea  of  the 
scheming  and  manoeuvring  that  took  place  before 
we  got  settled.  Uncle  Beverley  was  determined 
that  Berenice  should  not  ride  in  the  carriage  with 
young  Blakeney,  I  was  equally  resolved  that  she 
and  Gaveston  should  be  separated,  Mrs.  Rankin 
had  her  hooks  out  for  Mr.  Ames,  and  Gaveston,  of 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

course,  had  designs  on  Berenice.  He  and  the  pro 
moter  lady  seemed  to  be  working  together — whether 
by  agreement  or  not  I  am  still  uncertain.  Berenice, 
who  has  all  her  wits  about  her  most  of  the  time, 
was  perfectly  conscious  of  what  was  going  on  as 
far  as  she  was  concerned,  and  apparently  found  a 
kind  of  saturnine  amusement  in  it,  offering  succor 
to  neither  party.  We  were  all  so  inflexibly  deter 
mined  and  so  sweetly  polite  about  it  that  it  was 
rather  funny. 

Iquique,  from  the  ship,  looked  like  a  crowd  of 
colorless  buildings  under  a  smother  of  smoke,  set 
against  drab,  barren,  precipitous  mountains  of  sand. 
We  found  it,  however,  much  more  attractive  than 
we  had  expected,  since  we  have  heard  it  generally 
spoken  of  as  one  of  the  outermost  ends  of  the  earth. 

It  has  pleasant  enough  houses,  some  of  them 
built  with  a  curious  shelter  roof,  a  whole  story 
higher  than  the  real  roof,  giving  shade  and  a  free 
circulation  of  air  in  hot  weather ;  fairly  good  streets, 
well  watered — with  salt  water,  by-the-way;  side 
walks  a  trifle  dirty,  because,  as  there  is  never  any 
rain,  there  are  no  curbs,  and  the  street  overflows,  as 
it  were;  a  plaza  with  grass  and  flowers  and  a  little 
tree  or  two ;  and  some  small  gardens  made  at  infinite 
cost  of  labor  and  money,  for  every  green  thing  must 
be  coaxed,  and  water  sells  at  a  fabulous  price  per 
cubic  yard. 

We  drove  to  the  plaza  where  the  strikers  were 
shot,  and  while  the  men  were  explaining  things  to 
us,  we  noticed  that  the  other  carriage  had  been 
stopped  by  a  policeman,  who  presently  mounted 

138 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

to  the  seat  beside  the  driver,  and  they  came  on. 
As  they  approached  us,  I  noticed  that  the  shrinking 
and  child-like  promoter  lady  was  making  the  most 
of  this  golden  opportunity,  and  that  Uncle  Beverley 
was  doing  his  utmost  to  comfort  and  sustain  Beauty 
in  Distress.  Blakeney,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed 
to  be  much  entertained,  and  called  out  to  us  that 
they  were  under  arrest  and  bound  for  the  cuartel. 

Mr.  Lowe  threw  away  his  cigarette  with  a  jerk, 
told  our  driver  to  follow,  and  subsided  into  silence, 
pale  with  wrath.  Presently  the  carriages  stopped 
and  the  cabman  was  marched  off  to  the  cuartel — 
the  policeman  had  considerately  not  taken  us  to 
the  very  door — Mr.  Cortez  and  the  irate  Consul  fol 
lowing.  Nobody  knew  what  was  the  matter,  not 
even  the  policeman.  He  had  the  cabman's  name 
and  number  on  a  slip  of  paper,  nothing  more. 

Later,  at  the  cuartel,  it  was  learned  that  some 
woman  had  preferred  a  trifling  charge  against  the 
man,  and  for  this  the  Yankee  Consul's  guests  had 
been  held  up  during  a  drive  and  haled  off  to  the 
cuartel,  although  the  driver,  as  Mr.  Lowe  said,  was 
"numbered,  tagged,  licensed,  labelled — and  disin 
fected  every  week,"  and  could  have  been  found  any 
hour  of  any  day  in  that  little  town.  I  believe  he 
lodged  a  complaint  against  the  stupid  policeman, 
but  the  cabman  was  not  detained  and  the  whole 
thing  blew  over  in  laughter.  Indeed,  the  laughter 
began  then  and  kept  up  all  the  rest  of  the  day. 

We  continued  our  drive  through  the  city  and  out 
a  very  pretty  little  boulevard  along  the  beach,  bor 
dered  by  palms — very  small  as  yet — and  affording 

139 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

a  fine  view  of  the  cliffs  and  of  a  splendid  surf  break 
ing  over  the  rocks  off  shore.  We  saw  from  there  a 
big  hill  of  shifting  sand  that  constantly  changes  its 
shape,  so  they  say. 

A  turn  and  a  curve  over  the  sand-dunes  brought 
us  to  some  bath-houses,  where  there  is  also  a  good 
restaurant,  and  here  we  stopped  for  almuerza — and 
what  a  meal  they  did  give  us!  One  feature  of  it, 
peculiar  to  Iquique,  was  the  great  variety  of  fish, 
among  them  sea-urchins,  which  were  new  to  me. 

While  these  were  being  served,  Mr.  Lowe  cried: 
"Oh,  I  have  the  crab!"  And  sure  enough,  crawl 
ing  along  his  plate  from  among  the  urchins  came 
a  tiny,  tiny  crab  about  the  size  of  your  finger-nail 
— much  like  an  oyster  crab,  in  fact. 

This  he  offered  to  each  of  us,  assuring  us  that  in 
Iquique  these  little  creatures  were  considered  a 
great  delicacy.  I  confessed  to  having  eaten  old 
Stilton  cheese — once,  but  drew  the  line  at  live  crabs. 
All  the  others  refused  it;  but  we  united  in  begging 
him  to  show  us  how  it  was  done,  which  he  obliging 
ly  did.  As  he  had  never  tried  it  before,  however, 
he  began  by  calling  the  waiter  and  asking  if  people 
really  ate  them. 

"Si,   senor." 

"  Pero— vivo  ?"  (But— alive  ?) 

"Si,  senor — con  limon." 

So  con  limon  he  took  it,  vivo !  Apparently  the  crab 
didn't  enjoy  the  lemon,  so  he  was  gobbled  literally 
alive  and  kicking,  and  as  he  went  down  the  consular 
throat  Mr.  Lowe  screwed  up  his  eyes  and  wriggled 
his  fingers  scratchily,  in  ludicrous  suggestion  of  his 

140 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

own  sensations  at  the  moment.  I  have  since  been 
told  that  oyster  crabs  are  sometimes  eaten  alive 
with  us,  but  this  is  the  first  instance  of  the  sort  I 
ever  heard  of. 

That  was  a  long  and  a  merry  meal.  Mr.  Lowe  is 
fine  in  every  way — exactly  the  sort  of  man  one  likes 
to  think  of  as  representing  us  in  a  foreign  country, 
though  he  does  seem  rather  wasted  in  Iquique — and 
is  very  witty,  as  well.  Gaveston  fairly  scintillated; 
Blakeney's  droll  humor  glowed  here  and  there,  and 
even  Berenice  relaxed  and  entered  into  the  gay  spirit 
of  the  day. 

When  we  had  finished  breakfast  we  strolled  out 
to  a  little  platform  and  watched  strange  creatures 
of  the  sea  down  among  the  rocks  and  seaweed,  and 
saw  huge  schools  of  wriggling  sardines  swimming 
close  to  the  surface,  and — does  one  say  schools  or 
droves  or  flocks  or  herds? — of  seals  hunting  them 
and  swallowing  a  dozen  or  so  at  a  gulp.  It  reminded 
me  of  the  old  Irish  tale  of  The  Little  Weaver,  who 
killed  "fourscore  and  tin  at  wan  blow."  One  won 
ders  that  there  are  any  fish  left  in  the  sea  with 
these  voracious  beasts  about! 

To-day  we  are  at  anchor — of  course . — off  a  village 
called  Tocopia,  which,  like  Iquique,  exists  simply 
as  an  outlet  for  the  nitrate  fields.  The  cliffs  are 
still  mountain  high  and  of  wonderfully  blended  and 
varied  color.  I  would  not  have  believed  that  any 
thing  so  dry  and  barren  could  be  so  beautiful. 

Berenice  has  turned  a  cold  shoulder  to  Gaveston, 
and  is  flirting  desperately  with  a  young  Chilean,  a 
friend  of  Mr.  Cortez's,  who  came  aboard  at  Iquique 

141 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

and  is  bound  for  Coquimbo,*  two  or  three  days 
farther  south.  I  am  fully  cognizant  of  the  dangers 
attending  the  encouragement  of  any  man's  atten 
tions  to  her,  but  anything  that  keeps  the  Gaveston 
man  at  a  distance  is  welcome  just  now,  and  I  am 
conscientiously  posing  as  duenna,  though  I  don't 
want  to  overdo  it  and  irritate  her.  She  seems 
rather  to  enjoy  making  daring  sallies,  with  my  eye 
upon  her,  however. 

Blakeney  is  as  delightful  as  ever.  He  has  given 
me  some  humorously  framed  data  concerning  Mrs. 
Rankin  and  her  get-rich-quick  schemes,  some  of 
which  have  failed,  but  most  of  which  seem  now  to 
be  succeeding.  They  have  chiefly  to  do  with  min 
ing  ventures,  I  believe,  though  she  is  not  above 
earning  a  more  or  less  honest  penny  in  any  enter 
prise  that  offers,  political  or  otherwise. 

She  has  made  herself  very  popular  with  the  Powers 
That  Be  in  several  of  these  countries,  and  has  con 
stantly  used  our  representatives — ministers,  secre 
taries  and  consuls — to  prepare  the  way  for  her,  or 
to  rake  out  her  chestnuts  when  things  got  a  little 
too  warm. 

She  is  unmistakably  clever,  and  keeps  all  her 
thousand  eyes  on  the  main  chance.  I  wonder 
whether  she  really  does  want  to  marry  Mr.  Ames? 
Or  to  borrow  money?  Or  merely  to  use  his  in 
fluence  in  some  way  here  or  at  home?  I  wish  I 
knew.  I  fancy  that  tight-lipped,  sharp-faced  cousin 
could  tell,  an  she  would.  Poor  thing,  she  doesn't 

*  Pronounced  Co-keem'-bo. 
142 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

like  the  sea,  and  keeps  to  her  room  most  of  the 
time. 

Uncle  Beverley,  by- the- way,  has  evolved  a  most 
remarkable  theory  that  Blakeney's  rejoining  us  at 
Iquique  means  mischief  and  a  conspiracy  of  some 
sort  with  the  Ames  bete  noire,  Perry  Waite,  and  in 
sists  that  I  shall  never,  under  any  circumstances, 
permit  Berenice  an  instant  alone  with  the  boy. 
Did  you  ever  hear  anything  as  silly  as  that?  Here 
is  the  Gaveston  man  wooing  his  niece  under  his  very 
nose,  unheeded,  or,  at  any  rate,  unchecked;  and 
Shafter  Blakeney,  who  has,  at  most,  only  a  mild 
curiosity  concerning  her,  is  suspected  of  harboring 
dark  designs. 

I  wish  to  Heaven  he  would  fall  in  love  with  her, 
if  only  to  give  Gaveston  a  run  for  his  money;  but 
Shafter  has  far  too  much  common  sense,  as  well  as 
too  much  loyalty  to  his  chum,  to  do  anything  like 
that. 

And  there  we  are  at  the  present  writing.  Where 
we'll  be  in  a  week  remains  to  be  seen. 

At  Sea,  April  5th. 

They  say  that  this  voyage  is  almost  over,  that 
Valparaiso*  is  the  next  port  and  lies  dead  ahead,  and 
that  we  shall  sleep  ashore  to-night,  but  I  don't  be 
lieve  a  word  of  it.  It  has  come  to  seem  that  all  the 
world  we  shall  ever  know  is  here — this  handful  of 
people,  bound  by  the  limitations  and  steeped  in  the 

*  Pronounced  Val-pah-rah-ee'-so. 
10  143 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

monotony  of  long  days  and  longer  nights  on  the 
ship,  and  that  all  other  ties  and  associations  have 
been  lopped  off.  Every  hour  is  a  day,  every  day 
a  week,  in  its  possibilities,  and  we  are  always  to 
gether,  world  without  end,  amen!  Who  wrote  that 
classic  gem,  "You  Can't  Lose  Me,  Charlie"?  Still, 
down  in  our  state-room  trunks  are  locked  and  bags 
are  strapped,  quite  as  if  we  were  really  coming  to 
the  end  of  this. 

I  think  I  finished  my  last  letter  to  you  just  before 
we  reached  Antofogasta,*  which  the  English  seamen 
along  this  coast  have  nicknamed  Andy-go-faster. 

It  is  a  city,  like  Iquique,  of  about  forty  thousand 
inhabitants,  and  like  Iquique,  seen  from  the  ship  it 
is  "a  rag  and  a  bone  and  a  hank  of  hair" — rocks 
and  sand  and  a  smudge  of  smoke  hanging  over  col 
orless  houses  against  high  drab  hills.  The  surf  is 
sometimes  very  high,  and  though  it  was  calm  when 
we  arrived  in  the  morning,  nobody  could  tell  what 
it  would  be  in  the  afternoon,  and  we  women  were 
advised  to  stay  by  the  ship  and  so  escape  the  drench 
ing  that  the  men  invited  by  going  ashore. 

They  all  went,  ostensibly  for  the  day,  and  the 
way  they  came  back  was  significant.  Mr.  Gaveston 
stayed  only  about  half  an  hour,  apparently,  and  for 
once  completely  outwitted  me.  When  I  saw  him 
safely  off  in  the  boat  with  the  other  men,  I  took  a 
good,  long,  deep,  free  breath,  and  went  below  to 
baste  fresh  ruchings  in  a  gown  or  two,  and  to  sew 
on  sundry  hooks  and  eyes  and  buttons. 

*  Pronounced  An-toh-fo-gas'-ta. 
144 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Somewhat  to  my  surprise,  Mrs.  Rankin,  strolling 
past  my  open  door,  saw  me  and  stopped  for  a  chat. 
I  was  surprised,  because  Mrs.  Rankin  is  rather  skil 
ful  in  evading  tete-a-tete  chats  with  me.  However, 
on  this  occasion  she  elected  to  tell  me  the  story  of 
her  life,  and  how  she  chanced  to  marry  the  late 
lamented  Mr.  Rankin,  who  was  "such  a  dear  fel 
low,"  and  so  on. 

Therefore,  it  was  two  hours  before  I  again  mounted 
to  the  boat-deck,  to  find  our  wily  English  friend 
lounging  in  my  chair,  talking  steadily,  while  Bere 
nice,  alone  with  him,  listened,  absorbed  and  fasci 
nated  as  she  has  not  been  before  since  he  left  us  in 
Lima,  and,  incidentally,  as  she  has  been  ever  since. 

At  last,  too  late,  I  understand  his  game — and  I 
was  an  idiot  not  to  see  it  before!  He  took  no 
chances  of  a  rebuff,  or  of  frightening  her — or  her 
uncle.  He  planted  his  seed  very  carefully  before 
we  got  to  Lima,  and  then  he  went  away  and  gave 
it  a  chance  to  sprout — leaving  her,  perhaps,  a  little 
piqued  that  he  could  go  so  easily.  When  he  re 
joined  us,  he  had  no  business  to  bring  him  farther 
south.  He  came  solely  to  be  with  her,  and  he  had 
eight  good  days  ahead  —  days  when  we  could  not 
prevent  his  seeing  her  every  hour — in  which  to  im 
press  it  upon  her.  I  can  pretty  nearly  guess  now 
what  he  had  been  telling  her  that  night  I  found  him 
on  deck  at  Mollendo. 

And  while  we  lay  off  Antofogasta  he  recovered  all 
the  ground  he  had  lost — and  more;  and  again  he 
has  woven  around  her,  in  soft,  deep  colors,  the  toils 
of  life  in  the  older  world.  His  family  home  in  Eng- 

J45 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

land,  its  ivy,  its  lawns,  its  old  oak  carvings  and  dim 
portraits;  the  rolling  sands  and  caravans  of  Egypt; 
Thibet  and  its  wondrous  mountains;  India,  its 
teeming  millions,  its  temples,  its  castes  and  super 
stitions  and  customs.  And  for  the  first  time — in 
my  hearing,  at  least — he  wrapped  all  this  about  her. 
It  was  more  fascinating  than  ever,  but  it  was  no 
longer  an  impersonal  travel  tale.  It  was  her  travel 
tale,  subtly  told  in  the  future  tense. 

Of  course,  he  gave  me  my  chair,  but  kept  on  with 
his  lazy,  wandering  story,  and  as  he  talked  he 
smiled  at  me.  Does  he  feel  himself  strong  enough 
to  defy  me  now?  I  know  one  weapon  that  I  be 
lieve  would  defeat  him — and  only  one.  And  it  is 
the  one  of  all  others  that  I  must  not  use.  If  I 
could — if  I  dared — talk  to  her  of  Perry  Waite! 

I  am  sure  that,  angry  though  she  still  is,  and  hurt 
and  humiliated,  she  still  loves  him.  I  see  it  in  a 
hundred  ways — in  her  treatment  of  his  cousin,  to 
whom  she  is  by  turns  icily  cold  and  wistfully,  shyly 
friendly;  in  her  dread,  when  I  am  trying  to  coax 
her  near  me,  lest  I  shall  mention  the  story  she  told 
me  in  Lima;  in  her  savage,  melancholy  moods;  in 
— oh,  in  many  ways.  And  if  I  dared  remind  her  of 
him,  if  I  dared  show  her  what  he  is  and  the  mistake 
she  is  making  about  him,  I  believe  her  heart  would 
turn  strongly  back  to  him,  and  Gaveston  would  find 
himself  knocking  where  there  was  no  door. 

But  that  is  a  thing  I  must  not  do.  If  you  ever 
have  a  darling,  headstrong  daughter  whose  welfare 
you  are  determined  to  insure,  by  all  means  send  her 
to  South  America  with  a  purblind  male  relative  and 

146 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

a  chaperon  who  sees  both  sides  so  clearly  that,  in 
stead  of  arraying  herself  with  either,  she  sits  on  the 
fence  and  lets  things  hit  her.  Como  no? 

The  next  aboard  was  the  young  Chilean,  Mr. 
Noriega,  who  had  apparently  missed  Gaveston  and 
come  flying  back  to  intercept  him.  He  was  too  late, 
however.  The  Englishman  had  caught  him,  also, 
napping,  and  after  two  or  three  futile  attempts  to 
engage  the  young  lady's  attention,  Noriega  retired 
to  the  smoking-room  to  sulk. 

Later,  Uncle  Beverley  returned  with  some  other 
men — one  or  two  pleasant  Americans  who  joined  us 
at  Iquique  and  a  delightful  Englishman  who  has 
lived  down  here  many  years  and  talks  most  in 
terestingly  of  the  country  and  the  life.  Last  of  all, 
just  before  we  sailed,  Shafter  Blakeney  scrambled 
up  the  ladder.  Uncle  Beverley  was  still  hanging 
over  Mrs.  Rankin,  telling  her  all  about  his  day  in 
Antofogasta,  or  its  natural  sequel,  the  siege  of 
Vicksburg. 

Several  years  ago  I  met  a  very  delightful  and  cult 
ured  old  woman  whose  English  was  a  joy  forever — 
a  fountain  pure  and  undefiled.  Like  many  another 
linguist,  she  was  fascinated  by  the  color  and  force- 
fulness  of  our  American  slang,  and  the  expression 
that  held  her  fancy  at  the  moment  was  that  now 
outworn  phrase :  "  Wouldn't  that  jar  you  ?"  She  said 
it  was  so  fresh  and  piquant! 

Some  one  suggested  that  the  latest  variant  of  it 
was:  "Wouldn't  that  rattle  your  slats?"  After  we 
had  explained  the  meaning  of  slats,  she  was  per 
fectly  entranced  with  this,  and  said  she  did  hope 

i47 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

she  could  remember  it  until  dinner-time,  as  she 
wished  to  make  use  of  it. 

Later  in  the  afternoon — the  occasion  was  a  tea  in 
a  University  town — I  overheard  the  old  dear  glee 
fully  exclaiming  to  a  particularly  correct  and  rigid 
professor:  "Now,  wouldn't  that  shake  your  shut 
ters?" 

That's  what  it  does  to  me  to  see  Uncle  Beverley 
and  the  promoter  lady  together  now.  It  shakes 
my  shutters.  Marion,  wouldn't  it  be  ghastly  if  he 
should  marry  that  woman  and  take  her  home! 

I  am  much  impressed,  by-the-way,  by  the  char 
acter — the  caste — of  the  men  one  meets  down  here. 
They  are  not  many,  to  be  sure,  and  perhaps  we  have 
been  especially  fortunate ;  but  among  those  we  have 
met  the  average  of  clean,  alert  intelligence  seems 
high,  and  they  manage  to  keep  in  touch  with  the 
real  thought  and  movement  of  the  world,  somehow. 
They  go  "home"  every  three  or  four  years,  take 
good  periodicals,  and  read  much.  One  man,  an 
American  named  Holden,  has  been  particularly 
cordial  to  us,  of  which  more  anon.  Everybody  who 
is  anybody  knows  everybody  else  all  up  and  down 
the  coast,  and  it  is  perfectly  delightful  to  hear  three 
of  four  of  them  talking  over  things  and  people. 

But  I  didn't  see  much  of  Antofogasta,  though  it 
is  one  of  the  most  important  Chilean  ports.  One 
thing  I  did  see,  however,  which,  from  all  I  can 
learn,  was  better  worth  while  than  anything  the 
town  offered.  For  hours  I  watched  birds  fishing, 
curiously,  in  flocks. 

They  did  not  come  near  enough  for  us  to  tell  what 
148 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

manner  of  fowl  they  were,  whether  gull  or  duck, 
and  nobody  seemed  to  know.  We  could  only  see 
that  they  were  at  least  partly  white,  for  they  gleam 
ed  like  snow  in  the  sun.  The  leaders  wheeled,  again 
and  again,  back  on  the  following  flock  in  ever-short 
ening  flights,  until  they  were  well  massed,  evidently 
over  a  school  of  fish.  Then  one,  with  tight-folded 
wings,  pitched  straight  down  like  a  plummet,  and 
all  the  rest  followed,  a  vast  curtain  of  falling  birds. 

The  water  foamed  white  as  they  struck  it,  and 
had  time  to  calm  a  little  before  they  reappeared 
again  and  immediately  resumed  flight,  at  first  near 
the  surface,  but  rising  constantly,  and  constantly 
wheeling  into  a  more  compact  mass,  until  again 
they  dropped,  together,  on  their  prey. 

I  tried,  with  a  glass,  to  estimate  their  numbers, 
and  think  there  must  have  been  from  two  to  four 
hundred  in  a  flock,  and  there  were  many  flocks. 
Sometimes  one  would  wait  only  for  another  to  be 
fairly  out  of  the  water  before  falling  on  the  same 
hapless  school  of  fish.  The  men  said  that  there 
were  also  quantities  of  seals  swimming  about  among 
the  rocks.  Altogether,  I  should  say  that  in  these 
waters  a  fish's  life  is  not  a  happy  one. 

The  next  day  we  sighted  the  first  vessel  we  have 
seen  at  sea  since  leaving  Panama.  We  have  seen 
many  in  port,  but  not  one  at  sea  until  this  Chilean 
cruiser  appeared.  These  be  desolate  waters. 

The  Captain  continues  to  send  for  us  twice  a  day, 
on  one  pretext  or  another,  and  our  visits,  however 
they  begin,  always  end  in  what  he  calls  cocktails — 
a  combination  of  syrup,  gin,  bitters  and  lime-juice. 

149 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

It  sounds  rather  deadly,  but  is  of  a  pleasant  taste 
and  a  grateful  and  potent  warmth — and  the  air  is 
getting  decidedly  cool.  To-day  it  is  positively 
chilly,  and  I  am  shivering  in  the  white  linen  I  re 
served  for  going  ashore  at  Valparaiso.  It  is  also 
rough,  and  a  great  many  people  are  seasick.  The 
boat  is  crowded,  too. 

We  made  the  usual  ports  after  leaving  Antofo- 
gasta,  and  we  were  really  excited  when  we  came 
into  one  having  trees  and  windmills,  and  houses 
that  showed  paint. 

One  afternoon  we  amused  ourselves  watching  the 
hard  labor  of  two  Chilean  sailors  painting  a  boom 
high  over  the  boat-deck.  They  had  a  paint-brush 
tied  to  a  long  pole,  and  one  rubbed  this  back  and 
forth  where  he  thought  the  boom  ought  to  be, 
while  the  other  lay  flat  on  his  back  on  the  awning 
and  told  number  one  when  he  hit  the  right  spot, 
which  was  not  too  often.  Occasionally  a  blob  of 
paint  fell  and  pasted  the  prostrate  one  in  the  nose, 
or  elsewhere,  whereupon  there  were  exclamations 
and  much  spluttering  laughter,  and  then  they  sat 
down  somewhere  to  talk  it  over  in  detail. 

Once  they  were  both  walking  about,  barefooted, 
on  the  canvas  awning,  when  one  of  the  seams  split 
suddenly  and  spilled  the  fellow  through  to  the  deck, 
where  he  all  but  landed  upon  Mrs.  Beaver,  the  com 
panion  cousin,  sound  asleep  in  her  chair,  thereby 
nearly — but  not  quite — startling  that  tight-lipped 
lady  into  speech.  I  wonder  what  she'd  say  if  she 
should  happen  to  break  into  language?  I'll  war 
rant  she'd  a  tale  unfold  that  would  freeze  Uncle 

150 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Beverley's  young  blood  and  make  a  "fretful  por- 
pentine"  of  the  promoter  lady.  I've  tried  to  draw 
her  out  a  little,  but  I'm  afraid  she's  incorruptible. 

I  have  satisfied  myself  upon  one  point,  however. 
I  made  a  tentative  foray  inside  the  enemy's  lines 
the  other  day,  and  Mrs.  R.  was  armed  and  in  the 
saddle  so  quickly  that  my  last  doubt  was  dispelled. 
She  does  mean  to  marry  him — and  if  she  succeeds, 
I'll  never  forgive  myself. 

I  wonder  whether  the  lady  is  familiar  with  the 
game  of  football  ?  There  is  a  policy,  as  I  remember, 
called  interference  that  might  be  effective  in  this 
crisis.  Couldn't  I  manage  to  interfere  just  enough 
to  make  the  game  a  tie?  The  trouble  with  that 
scheme  is  that  Uncle  Beverley  is  likely  to  lose  his 
head  and  kick  the  ball  himself — and  Heaven  knows 
/  don't  want  to  score! 

I  have  discovered,  too,  that  I  may  have  an  ally 
in  Berenice.  Being  young,  she  sees  things  all  in 
black  and  white.  No  tender  grays,  no  softening 
shadows  and  reflected  tints — just  black  and  white. 
And  if  the  expression  I  occasionally  catch  on  her 
face  is  any  criterion,  the  aspect  her  uncle's  new 
friend  presents  to  her  is  mostly  black.  Also,  in 
addition  to  being  an  intolerant  young  thing,  she  is 
an  Ames,  and  it  is  quite  possible  that  she  may  ex 
hibit  Mrs.  Rankin  to  him  as  ithers  see  her. 

I  am  still  trying,  in  all  the  ways  I  know  or  can 
evolve,  to  coax  Berenice  back  to  me.  Sometimes  I 
think  I  almost  succeed.  Once  or  twice  she  has 
seemed  almost  ready  to  like  me,  to  talk  to  me  in 
stead  of  at  me,  to  let  me  touch  her  very  softly,  and 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

then  something — some  memory — some  fear — some 
shy,  timorous  instinct — has  frightened  her  away,  and 
she  has  turned  suspicious  and  savage  again.  It's 
exactly  like  trying  to  tame  a  wild  animal.  But 
each  time  she  comes  a  little  nearer,  and  some  day — 
if  only  it  isn't  too  late! 

One  evening  we  varied  the  monotony  a  little  by 
accepting  the  first  officer's  invitation  to  go  to  his 
room  and  listen  to  his  gramophone  or  phonogram  or 
graphophone,  or  whatever  they  call  the  thing.  He 
is  young  and  decidedly  attractive  in  many  ways, 
but  gave  us  a  pathetic  glimpse  of  their  life  down 
here.  He  said  one  of  the  other  officers  went  "home " 
recently  intending  to  be  married,  but  "couldn't 
face  it." 

"What's  the  use  of  getting  married?"  said  he. 
"We're  never  ashore.  We're  three  days  in  Val 
paraiso,  unloading,  then  off  to  coal;  back  to  Val 
paraiso  to  load — and  north  again.  We  have  good 
quarters,  yes — the  best  I've  seen  on  any  line;  but 
you  see,  that's  all  we  have.  None  of  us  down  here 
can  have  any  homes,  since  we're  never  ashore. 
We  work  all  the  time,  and  never  leave  the  ship." 

And  their  pay  is  almost  beggarly.  Bright,  wide 
awake,  alert  fellows  like  this  man — and  mind  you, 
he  is  the  chief  officer,  second  only  to  the  Captain  in 
rank  or  in  pay — get  fifteen  or  sixteen  pounds  a 
month,  at  most.  The  second  and  third  and  fourth 
officers  get  much  less,  of  course. 

I  begin  to  understand  why  we  have  no  American 
merchant  marine.  Our  young  men  won't  submit 
to  that  sort  of  thing,  and  that  is  what  we  have  to 

152 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

compete  with.  On  the  other  hand,  I  see  as  I  never 
did  before,  how  an  American  merchant  marine  is 
needed.  Think  what  a  little  lively  American  com 
petition  would  mean  in  the  development  of  these 
countries  alone! 

We  had  a  delightful  experience,  as  well  as  an 
amusing  one,  at  Coquimbo  yesterday.  We  made 
port  just  before  noon,  and  were  about  deciding  not 
to  go  ashore,  when  Mr.  Holden,  the  agreeable  Ameri 
can  I  have  already  mentioned,  came  to  tell  us  that 
his  friend  Don  Enrico  Gonzalez,  who  had  come 
aboard  to  see  him,  invited  us  to  go  with  them  to 
La  Serena,*  a  neighboring  town,  rejoining  the  ship 
in  the  evening  at  Guayacan.f  the  next  port,  to  which 
we  could  easily  drive. 

It  sounded  very  enticing,  as  we  had  heard  much 
of  the  beauties  of  this  neighborhood,  so  we  promptly 
accepted  and  set  off  at  once.  Neither  Mrs.  Rankin 
nor  Mr.  Gaveston,  I  am  happy  to  say,  was  in 
cluded  in  the  party,  which  consisted  of  Senor  Gon 
zalez,  Mr.  Holden,  an  English  friend  of  his  named 
Herne,  Shafter  Blakeney,  Mr.  Ames,  Berenice  and 
me. 

This  place  is  at  the  end  of  the  desert  which  ex 
tends  all  the  way  from  Guayaquil  south,  and  it  did 
seem  good  to  see  trees  and  cultivated  fields  and 
wayside  grasses  again.  Coquimbo  is  planted  on  the 
side  of  a  rocky  promontory,  a  little  peninsula,  with 
a  sort  of  bay  widely  curving  north  from  it  to  Serena 
and  beyond.  In  the  other  direction,  on  the  opposite 

*  Pronounced  Se-ray-na 
t  Pronounced  Gwy-a-cdn 

153 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

side  of  the  peninsula,  not  more  than  two  or  three 
miles  away,  is  Guayacan. 

We  walked  up  rather  an  interesting  little  street 
to  the  plaza,  where  we  waited  until  two  carriages 
could  be  secured.  Then,  behind  fresh  horses  har 
nessed  three  abreast,  we  set  gayly  forth,  first  clat 
tering  over  rough  cobbles  through  the  village,  and 
then  out  upon  a  splendid  hard  beach,  upon  which 
we  drove  the  nine  miles  to  La  Serena,  the  lovely 
blue  sea  on  the  one  side,  and  on  the  other  fertile 
hills  rising  into  mountains  beyond,  and  far  above  and 
behind  them  all  a  lofty,  snow-covered  Andean  summit. 

At  La  Serena  we  left  the  beach  and  drove  up  a 
wide  Alameda  bordered  by  big  trees — rather  dusty 
now,  because  the  rainy  season  has  not  yet  com 
menced — and  with  a  zanca,  a  little  stream,  flowing 
down  its  length  in  a  stone  waterway.  The  plaza 
is  pretty,  and  there  are  many  churches  in  the  town. 
I  wanted  to  stop  to  photograph  some  doorways  and 
arching  walls  and  a  gate  or  two,  but  our  time  was 
limited ;  so,  after  seeing  the  plaza,  we  went  at  once 
to  the  Democratic  Club  and  waited  in  a  very  cere 
monious  and  much-upholstered  sala  while  our  host 
left  an  order  for  flowers  for  us.  From  here  we 
walked  a  block  or  two  to  another  club,  where  we 
were  shown  various  rooms  for  reading,  cards,  bill 
iards,  banquets  and  social  purposes  generally,  all 
very  commodious  and  comfortable.  Then  we  were 
invited  to  have  a  "wee  nippie,"  and  were  intro 
duced  to  chicha,  the  popular  drink  of  the  country, 
which  is  a  grape  cider,  pleasant  to  the  taste  and 
said  to  be  very  insidious. 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

When  this  was  over  we  were  invited  into  another 
room,  a  small,  private  dining-room,  where  we  found 
a  table  elaborately  prepared,  with  flowers  in  posi 
tively  prodigal  profusion,  and  where  a  perfectly 
delicious  luncheon  was  served.  How  under  the  sun 
they  ever  did  it  in  the  time  they  had  I  shall  never 
know! 

Luncheon  finished,  we  returned  to  the  Democratic 
Club,  where  Berenice  and  I  were  each  presented 
with  a  bouquet  so  huge  and  so  heavy  that  the  men 
had  to  carry  them  for  us — roses,  bouvardias,  white 
heliotrope,  tiny  fuchsias  in  long  sprays,  begonias, 
and  gorgeous  carnations. 

Then  we  got  into  our  three-horse  carriages  again 
and  whirled  along  the  hard  beach  to  Coquimbo, 
meeting  many  high -boxed  vegetable  carts,  each 
drawn  by  four  beautiful  oxen,  lines  of  burros  with 
hide  panniers  bobbing  as  they  walked,  and  droves 
of  sheep  coming  down  through  the  gray-green  beach 
grasses  and  over  piles  of  brown  seaweed,  all  making 
sharp  shadows  and  reflections  on  the  wet  sand.  It 
was  exquisite.  I  saw  pictures  enough  in  one  after 
noon  to  keep  an  artist  busy  for  a  month ;  and  always 
towering  serenely  over  it  all  was  that  one  white 
peak. 

From  Coquimbo  we  drove  straight  across  the  lit 
tle  neck  of  land  to  Guayacan,  where  the  ship  lay  in 
a  small  but  very  lovely  harbor.  It  is  strange  that 
on  this  whole  long  coast,  from  Panama  to  Valparaiso, 
there  are  but  three  harbors  —  the  river  at  Guaya 
quil,  a  fairly  well  -  protected  anchorage  at  Callao, 
and  this  tiny  land-locked  bay  of  Guayacan. 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

As  far  as  I  could  see,  Guayacan  consists  prin 
cipally  of  a  copper  smelter,  and  we  scrambled  down 
through  great  piles  of  slag  to  reach  the  landing. 
The  setting  sun  was  staining  the  waves  and  the  wet 
beach  crimson  as  we  rowed  out  to  the  ship,  and  only 
after  we  were  returned  to  the  deck  where  he  first 
found  us  did  our  courtly  host  leave  us.  Perhaps  we 
sometimes  do  this  sort  of  thing  at  home  for  strangers 
and  casual  fellow-travellers.  I  hope  we  do. 

We  sailed  about  six,  and  we  were  all  still  on  deck 
when  a  small  boat  put  out  from  shore,  two  men 
madly  rowing,  and  a  third  standing  in  the  bow  wav 
ing  his  arms  and  frantically  shouting.  The  Captain 
rang  full  speed  astern,  the  engines  were  reversed  with 
great  commotion,  the  ladder  was  lowered,  and  we 
all  ran  to  the  rail — to  see  Mr.  Noriega,  who,  having 
missed  Berenice  in  the  haste  of  our  departure  in 
the  morning,  had  returned  to  the  ship  to  bid  her 
an  eternal  farewell  and  present  her  with  a  bouquet. 
Only  this  and  nothing  more!  After  which  the  voy 
age  was  resumed. 

There  is  land  ahead,  and  Valparaiso  will  soon  be 
in  sight,  as  they  say  we  shall  arrive  in  about  an  hour. 
Valparaiso — Vale  of  Paradise!  I  hope  we  shall  not 
find  it  Purgatory.  Sometimes  I  want  to  wake  up, 
.and  sometimes  I'm  terribly  afraid  I  will  before  the 
dream  is  done. 

Santiago  de  Chile,  April  loth. 

My  dear,  I  have  waked  up!  I  knew  it  was  all  a 
dream,  and  now  I  have  proved  it.  I  thought  I  was, 

156 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

a  mature  and  travel- worn  woman,  journeying  to  a 
strange,  far  country,  and  I  have  waked  in  the  dear, 
familiar  home  of  my  childhood,  among  scenes  that 
I  thought  had  disappeared  with  my  youth.  This  is 
Southern  California,  and  life  is  still  before  me.  The 
years,  with  all  their  joys  and  sorrows  and  struggles, 
were  only  a  dream,  and  I  am  a  girl  again.  And  to 
make  assurance  doubly  sure,  Ned  Harrington  is  com 
ing  over  to  play  with  me  to-night.  Cook  is  going  to 
let  us  have  real  dishes,  and  really,  truly  things  to 
eat,  and  we're  going  to  play  that  we're  grown  up 
and  haven't  seen  each  other  for  years.  Won't  it 
be  fun  ? 

Does  this  sound  extravagant?  But  you've  no 
idea  how  extravagant  I  feel.  And  the  best  of  it  is, 
it's  all  true.  I  don't  know  why  it  is  true,  but  it  is! 
To-morrow  I  may  be  dreaming  fitful,  anxious  dreams 
again,  but  to-day  I  am  awake,  and  I  see  life — long, 
beautiful,  mysterious,  wonderful  life — stretching  on 
ahead  as  I  haven't  seen  it  before  since — I  went  to 
sleep.  What  a  world  it  is! 

Ah,  well!  you  never  learn  much  from  my  rhap 
sodies,  do  you?  You  are  always  demanding  facts, 
you  adorable,  practical  creature,  just  as  if  you 
didn't  know  that  only  the  invisible  things  have 
substance  and  the  things  we  see  are  but  shadows. 
Well,  then,  back  to  our  muttons! 

We  approached  Valparaiso  about  three  o'clock  of 
a  windy  Sunday  afternoon,  and  a  surprising  sight  it 
was  to  me.  I  don't  know  how  to  describe  it  so  you 
will  see  the  picture  as  I  saw  it.  In  the  first  place, 
the  coast  curves  sharply  to  the  west  here,  so  that  a 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

vessel  coming  from  the  north  runs  straight  into  the 
harbor — such  as  it  is.  I  will  say,  while  I  think  of 
it,  that  it  really  is  not  a  very  safe  harbor,  for  while 
it  is  perfectly  protected  on  the  east  and  south,  and 
fairly  well  by  a  jutting  point  on  the  west,  a  norther 
— which  is  a  fierce  wind  here — blows  directly  into 
it  and  plays  dire  havoc  with  the  shipping. 

So,  straight  ahead  of  us  lay  land,  and  even  then 
I  began  to  wake  and  know  that  I  had  come  back 
to  my  youth,  for  the  hills  had  the  contour  and  gen 
eral  conformation  of  the  California  hills  over  which 
I  roamed  as  a  child — had  even  their  characteristic 
color,  the  soft,  tawny,  lion-tinted  shade  of  the  last 
dry  weeks  before  the  rains. 

And  straight  ahead  of  us,  too,  lay  the  city,  run 
ning  uphill  in  windrows.  Or  better,  it  was  as  if 
the  range  of  mountains  lying  across  our  path  had 
been  ploughed,  when  the  gods  were  young,  from  a 
point  midway  up  its  sides  to  the  sea,  and  as  if,  ages 
later,  a  city  had  been  built  on  the  crests  of  the 
hillocks  thrown  up  by  this  Cyclopean  ploughshare, 
the  deep  old  furrows  lying  empty  between.  It  is 
a  strange  effect.  Of  course,  at  the  water-front  the 
city  is  massed  in  a  solid  line,  but  it  soon  separates, 
particularly  as  it  stretches  away  to  the  east,  to  fol 
low  the  hillocks  left  by  that  Olympian  ploughboy. 

Scores  upon  scores  of  small  boats  awaited  us,  and 
as  soon  as  we  had  been  officially  "received,"  flete- 
ros,  hotel  solicitors,  and  friends  of  the  passengers 
swarmed  up  the  ladder  and  over  the  decks. 

We  waited  an  interminable  time  to  get  our  big 
trunks  out  of  the  hold,  but  first  the  baggage-man 

158 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

had  not  come  on  board,  then  he  was  on  board  but 
must  on  no  account  be  disturbed,  as  he  was  having 
tea(!),  then  the  hold  was  open  but  our  things  were 
at  the  bottom,  and  finally,  after  two  hours,  we  gave 
it  up  and  came  ashore  with  our  small  luggage, 
which,  as  before,  went  over  the  side  attached  to  a 
slender  rope,  with  excellent  chances  of  going  to  the 
bottom  instead  of  into  the  bobbing  boat  beneath. 

The  landing-stage  was  a  terror,  as  it  was  high, 
and  its  many  wet,  slippery  steps  were  set  so  steeply 
one  over  another  that  it  was  worse  than  climbing 
a  ladder.  There  was  no  hand-rail  to  hold  to,  and 
it  took  three  men  and  a  boy  to  hoist  your  fat  friend 
to  the  top — and  I'm  not  so  very  fat,  either. 

The  customs  inspection,  which  familiarity  with 
our  own  gentle  methods  has  made  a  nerve-racking 
ordeal  for  me,  was  easily  over,  and  soon  we  were 
swallowed  by  an  enormous,  high -swung,  antedi 
luvian  coach,  that  rattled  us  over  cobbled  streets 
and  emitted  us  at  the  door  of  our  hotel,  which  had 
much  the  aspect  and  something  the  atmosphere  of 
an  English  hostelry. 

We  had  hardly  seen  our  luggage  bestowed  when 
Shafter  Blakeney  came  to  our  door  to  ask  if  we 
wouldn't  go  at  once  for  a  stroll  through  the  city 
with  him  and  a  friend  who  had  come  from  Santiago 
to  meet  him;  and  though  Mr.  Ames  frowned  a  little, 
he  finally  consented  to  go. 

Shafter  hasn't  been  here  for  six  or  eight  years, 
and  all  the  way  down  he  has  been  telling  me  about 
these  Chilean  cities,  and  has  been  so  eager  to  get 
here.  Lima  evidently  disappointed  him;  but  after 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

all,  he  said,  that  was  Peru,  and  I  was  not  to  make 
up  my  mind  about  South  American  cities  until  I 
had  seen  Valparaiso  and  Santiago. 

So  Uncle  Beverley  set  off  ahead  with  Berenice 
and  Mr.  Reade,  and  we  followed.  When  we  had 
walked  about  five  minutes,  Blakeney  said  quietly 
to  me,  under  his  breath: 

"Gee!  Doesn't  it  look  little!  Why,  this  street 
used  to  be  magnificent!"  After  a  few  blocks  more, 
he  asked:  "Reade,  is  Santiago  as  dingy  as  this?" 

"Oh,  worse — much  worse!"  was  the  reply,  after 
which  I  did  all  the  talking  for  a  while. 

It  was  really  quite  a  shock  to  poor  Shafter  to 
see  against  the  background  of  New  York  these 
cities  that  had  loomed  so  large  and  impressive  on 
the  horizon  of  his  boyhood.  Finally  he  took  a 
deep  breath,  and  said : 

"You  know  this  isn't  my  home  town,  Mrs.  Pome- 
roy.  Santiago  may  be  just  as  bad,  but  I'm  going 
to  keep  up  the  bluff  until  the  last  moment." 

To  me,  however,  Valparaiso  was  interesting.  Two 
or  three  of  the  principal  business  streets,  practically 
the  only  level  ones  in  the  city,  have  been  built  on 
made  ground,  redeemed  from  the  sea,  and  curve 
around  the  base  of  the  hills,  thus  having  the  almost 
irresistible  allure  of  any  winding  road.  The  build 
ings  are  much  like  those  in  our  small  cities  at  home. 
We  strolled  to  the  plaza,  large  and  very  pretty, 
around  which  we  saw  some  of  the  devastation 
wrought  by  the  earthquake,  though  rebuilding  is 
going  on  as  rapidly  as  possible. 

It  is  rather  strange  that  I  should  have  seen  the 
1 60 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

three  stricken  cities,  San  Francisco,  Kingston  and 
Valparaiso,  within  as  many  months.  In  San  Fran 
cisco  they  speak  of  "the  fire,"  which  really  worked 
their  ruin;  in  Kingston  it  is  "the  earthquake  and 
fire,"  equally  and  awfully  destructive;  but  down 
here,  where  the  world  shivered  and  chattered  in  a 
violent  chill  for  five  minutes,  until  hillside  graveyards 
tossed  their  dead  into  the  streets  below  and  men 
went  mad  with  terror,  the  fire  that  followed  was  of 
comparatively  minor  importance,  and  the  new  era 
dates  from  "the  earthquake." 

We  walked  for  some  distance  through  the  Gran 
Avenida,  a  broad  street  which  it  is  intended  shall 
be  bordered  by  fine  houses,  a  few  of  which  have 
already  been  built.  Down  the  centre  is  a  wide 
promenade,  along  which  stretches  a  line  of  mar 
ble  pedestals,  some  of  them  still  supporting  life- 
sized  statues  in  bronze.  Wheelwright,  for  example, 
refused  to  be  shaken  off  his  perch;  but  I  grieve  to 
say  that  Cristoforo  Columbo  has  gone  an  anoth 
er  bust  (don't  you  wish  you  could  read  Innocents 
Abroad  again  for  the  first  time  ?) ,  perhaps,  as  Shafter 
suggested,  in  remorse  at  having  discovered  a  country 
of  such  ineradicable  seismic  propensities. 

We  returned  to  the  hotel  by  tram.  The  street 
cars  are  double-deckers;  but  as  the  top  is  reserved 
for  second-class  passengers,  we  were  warned  not  to 
ride  there  in  the  daytime,  which  seemed  unfortu 
nate,  since  those  high  seats  recalled  the  delights  of 
a  London  bus.  After  eight  in  the  evening,  how 
ever,  class  distinctions  fade,  and  it  is  quite  proper 
to  mount  aloft. 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Our  fare  was  about  three  cents,  which  contrasted 
rather  sharply  with  the  fletero's  demand — which 
the  men  firmly  refused  to  consider — of  fifty  dollars 
for  bringing  us  and  our  luggage  ashore.  The  one  is 
quoted  in  gold,  however,  and  the  other  in  Chilean 
paper,  just  now  worth  six  pesos  to  our  dollar — 
the  peso,  as  the  financial  unit,  being  frequently 
called  a  dollar  by  English-speaking  people  down 
here. 

The  heavy  charge  for  transporting  luggage  to  and 
from  steamers  in  these  countries  is  among  the  ex 
penses  not  generally  taken  into  account  by  travel 
lers  planning  this  trip,  and  of  course,  as  elsewhere, 
strangers  are  imposed  upon  more  or  less. 

We  walked  along  the  water-front  one  day,  all  of 
which  was  wrecked  by  the  earthquake,  and  saw  a 
couple  of  miles  of  freight  piled  up,  sometimes  to  a 
height  of  fifteen  or  twenty  feet,  without  shelter  or 
covering  of  any  kind,  and  cranes  at  work  hauling 
up  more  from  the  lighters.  At  the  same  time,  a 
car -track  is  being  laid  along  there,  and  they  are 
planning  to  rebuild  the  warehouses.  Altogether  it 
is  a  good  deal  of  a  mess,  and  having  seen  it,  one  does 
not  wonder  at  the  stories  one  hears  from  merchants 
of  the  difficulties  of  getting  goods,  even  after  they 
have  arrived,  when  they  have  to  be  found  in  all 
that  confusion  and  extricated  from  beneath  a  few 
tons  of  other  things,  and  then  to  be  passed  through 
the  overcrowded  custom-house. 

One  wonders,  too,  what  the  condition  of  this  un 
protected  mass  of  stuff  will  be  when  the  rains  be 
gin,  as  they  may  any  day  now.  It  also  shows  the 

162 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

great  amount  of  freight  that  comes  into  this  part  of 
Chile — from  where? 

Earthquakes  seem  to  be  almost  human  in  their 
inconsistency,  and  this  one  played  particularly  fan 
tastic  tricks.  Occasionally  it  skipped  a  hill,  leav 
ing  its  houses  comparatively  undamaged,  while 
devastating  those  on  either  side;  and  in  the  imme 
diate  vicinity  of  our  hotel,  only  a  block  or  two  from 
the  water-front  where  everything  went  down,  there 
is  no  evidence  now  of  any  disturbance. 

The  hills  in  Valparaiso  are  so  steep  that  in  many 
places  streets  are  impossible,  and  one  sees  little  cars 
crawling  up  and  down  the  face  of  the  cliffs,  one  help 
ing  to  balance  the  other — the  combination  of  cable- 
road  and  elevator  that  in  Italy  is  called  a  funicular. 
If  we  have  any  word  for  it  in  English,  I  do  not 
know  it. 

There  are  some  most  attractive  houses,  with  lovely 
gardens  and  very  wonderful  views,  perched  up  on 
these  cliff-like  hills,  and  one  does  not  wonder  that 
the  Valparaisan,  like  the  San  Franciscan,  thinks  no 
other  city  on  earth  quite  so  fair  as  his  own. 

I  was  particularly  struck  by  this  resemblance  to 
San  Francisco  when  we  came  in  from  Vina  del  Mar, 
a  charming  and  very  fashionable  summer  resort, 
where  we  dined  one  night,  after  driving  in  the  after 
noon  through  its  tree-bordered  streets,  past  ornate 
villas  and  bewildering  gardens.  The  tram-line  runs 
for  some  distance  along  the  shore,  and  as  we  came 
in  after  dark,  there  sat  Valparaiso,  queenly,  on  her 
hills,  all  a-glitter  with  jewels — stomacher  and  neck 
lace  and  diadem — as  many  a  time  I  have  seen  her 

163 


northern  sister  from  Piedmont  or  the  bay.  The 
resemblance  was  startling. 

We  took  various  other  excursions  in  and  about 
the  city,  sometimes  with  the  boys,  Blakeney  and 
Reade,  and  sometimes  with  Mr.  Gaveston.  Mrs. 
Rankin  was  very  busy  for  the  two  days  she  stayed 
there,  so  we  only  saw  her  in  the  evening,  and  she 
preceded  us  to  Santiago. 

Berenice  has  again  reached  the  point  where  she 
abandons  herself  to  Mr.  Gaveston 's  suggestions  and 
is  bored  by  everything  else,  and  several  times  I 
have  caught  young  Blakeney  gravely  watching  her, 
a  kind  of  disquietude  in  his  glance.  I'd  like  to 
know  what  he  thinks  about  it,  but  as  I  have  said,  he 
is  something  of  a  sphinx,  and  since  he  rejoined  us 
at  Iquique  we  have  never  spoken  of  the  connection 
between  Berenice  and  his  cousin,  each  understanding 
and  respecting  the  other's  allegiance. 

Then,  one  bright  and  beautiful  morning — yester 
day  morning,  to  be  exact — we  started  for  Santiago. 
Berenice  and  I  had  a  wild  scramble  to  get  dressed 
in  time,  as  the  hotel  people  called  us,  of  course,  half 
an  hour  later  than  they  had  been  instructed.  It  is 
always  half  an  hour  late  or  an  hour  too  early  with 
these  children  of  the  South,  to  whom  time  has  no 
value  and  accuracy  in  anything  is  all  but  an  im 
possibility. 

In  this  connection,  Mr.  Blakeney  told  us  some 
interesting  things  about  the  conduct  of  the  rail 
road  between  Valparaiso  and  Santiago.  He  said 
that  it  had  been  found  perfectly  impossible  to  con 
vince  people  that  if  they  were  not  in  the  train  at 

164 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

the  hour  announced,  it  would  leave  without  them. 
That  a  train  should  depart  on  time — it  was  incon 
ceivable  ! 

So  much  violent  indignation  was  expressed  by 
persons  holding  tickets,  who  ambled  serenely  to  the 
station  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  after  the  train 
was  on  its  way,  that  the  enterprising  manager  of 
the  road  racked  his  brain  for  a  remedy.  Finally 
he  hit  upon  the  scheme  of  having  all  railroad  time 
pieces  set  back  half  an  hour.  Thereafter  the  trains 
still  left  promptly  at  the  minute  scheduled,  as  in 
dicated  by  the  official  clocks,  the  travelling  public 
meandered  to  the  stations  as  late  as  usual,  accord 
ing  to  city  time,  and  still  caught  the  train,  and  every 
body  was  happy — except  the  few  who  required  more 
than  the  half -hour  of  grace.  These  are  still  left  be 
hind. 

Then  the  engineers,  who  felt  that  they  were  doing 
all  that  could  be  expected  if  they  didn't  consume 
more  than  twelve  hours  in  what  should  be  a  five- 
hour  trip,  were  taken  in  hand.  They  were  offered 
a  reward  for  each  train  they  brought  in  on  time, 
and  the  result  was  that  they  tobogganed  down  hills 
and  slewed  dizzily  around  curves,  and  when  they 
didn't  land  in  a  ditch,  got  in  an  hour  or  so  ahead  of 
time.  Now  they  receive  extra  pay  for  being  exact, 
and  are  fined  for  being  either  late  or  early,  and  they 
generally  accomplish  the  trip  with  reasonable  accu 
racy — but  it  requires  an  intricate  system  to  bring 
this  about. 

However,  being  Americans,  we  did  get  there  on 
time,  with  all  our  luggage,  at  the  hour  advertised, 

165 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

though  we  nearly  broke  our  backs  and  our  tempers 
doing  it,  and  then  waited  the  extra  half-hour  while 
our  wiser  and  more  leisurely  southern  friends  finish 
ed  their  coffee  in  peace  and  came  drifting  calmly 
in  long  after  us. 

Then  followed  five  hours  in  an  electric-lighted 
chair-car — not  quite  the  equal  of  those  on  good 
trains  at  home,  but  still  much  more  comfortable 
than  an  ordinary  day  coach — travelling  through 
country  so  familiar  that  had  I  been  dropped  into 
it  blindfolded,  I  should  have  known  that  I  was  in 
some  slightly  unfamiliar  part  of  California. 

There  were  the  same  brown  slopes  dotted  with 
green,  the  same  rolling,  clean-cut  hills,  the  same 
parched,  dusty  roads,  the  same  dark  men  riding 
tough,  wiry,  sturdy  little  horses,  the  same  tile- 
topped  adobe  walls — oh,  it  is  many  years  since  these 
have  been  seen  in  California,  but  I  remember  them! 
They  belonged  to  my  childhood,  and  have  been  re 
paired  while  I  slept.  When  I  saw  them  last  they 
were  crumbling  under  the  sun  and  melting  away  in 
the  winter  rains. 

There  were  the  same  tall  eucalyptus  and  ferny 
pepper  trees.  I  missed  only  the  beautiful  spreading 
live-oaks,  and  found  the  many  willows  and  poplars 
strange — evidence  of  more  water  than  my  Califor 
nia  knew.  There  was  a  vine,  too,  that  I  had  not 
seen  before,  perhaps  a  parasite — a  riot  of  scarlet 
in  almost  every  tree. 

We  passed  a  real  California  river,  though — a  well- 
behaved,  cheerful  enough  little  stream  now,  but  its 
wide,  dry,  rocky  bed  shows  plainly  what  it  can  do 

166 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

when  the  rains  fall  or  the  snows  melt,  and  it  rages 
and  roars  and  tears  its  way  down  to  the  sea.  Some 
one  told  me,  too,  that  in  the  spring  all  my  old,  be 
loved  wild -flowers  bloom  on  these  hillsides,  and 
that  they  are  starred  with  California's  pride,  the 
golden  glory  so  incongruously  named  eschscholtzia. 

I  had  no  memory  of  the  quaint,  high  carts,  nor 
of  the  many  ox-teams  we  saw;  and  once  an  unreal 
company  of  lancers,  men  and  accoutrements  gray 
with  dust,  but  with  pennants  gayly  flying,  wound 
into  sight  from  behind  a  hill  and  halted  at  a  stream, 
staring  at  the  train. 

During  this  long  journey  inland,  I  smiled  more 
than  once  remembering  a  story  Mr.  Holden  told  of 
a  New  York  newspaper  that  published,  during  the 
war  between  Peru  and  Chile,  a  detailed  account 
and  a  picture  of  a  naval  battle  off  Santiago.  As 
well  have  one  off  Pittsburg! 

We  had  a  fairly  good  breakfast  at  Llai-Llai — 
which  is  here  pronounced  Yi-Yi — and  were  much 
attracted  by  a  line  of  native  women  squatting  be 
hind  baskets  of  most  beautiful  fruit,  grapes  and 
apples  more  nearly  resembling  the  hot-house  prod 
ucts  shown  by  fruiterers  in  London  and  New  York 
than  anything  grown  out-of-doors. 

From  there  on  we  were  eagerly  looking  for  the 
snowy  peaks,  which  did  not  appear.  Finally,  Blake- 
ney,  who  has  had  to  reconstruct  so  many  of  his 
memories  since  arriving  in  Valparaiso,  dryly  re 
marked  : 

"Well,  I  trust  the  Andes  are  still  here!" 

But  there  seemed  to  be  only  one  little  Ande  left, 
167 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

or,  if  there  were  more,  they  persistently  veiled  them 
selves  in  haze  or  mist,  and  still  do,  for  I  have  not 
seen  them  yet. 

The  first  glimpse  we  had  of  Santiago  was  a  statue 
of  the  Virgin  on  a  hill-top,  and  near  it  the  dome 
of  the  Lick  Observatory.  Then  the  towers  of  the 
Cathedral  came  into  view,  and  a  few  moments  later 
we  were  driving  through  the  stately  and  beautiful 
Alameda,  a  wide  and  apparently  very  long  street, 
its  central  promenade  having,  on  either  side,  a 
double  row  of  trees,  a  zanca,  a  driveway,  and  the 
customary  sidewalks. 

Our  hotel,  which  is  new,  seems  very  good,  and  we 
have  a  delightful  and  well-furnished  suite  of  rooms, 
in  which,  by-the-way,  we  found  many  vases  filled 
with  roses  beautifully  arranged.  We  supposed  this 
to  be  due  to  the  thoughtfulness  of  Mr.  Ames'  agent, 
who  engaged  the  rooms  for  us,  but  he  disclaims 
credit  for  it,  and  we  are  still  wondering  whether  it 
is  a  part  of  the  regular  attendance. 

There  is  an  inexplicable  fascination  about  this 
city.  It  is  not  the  influence  of  the  much-heralded 
Andes,  for  as  I  have  said,  they  are  invisible  to-day. 
Nor  is  it  anything  especially  characteristic  or  un 
usual  in  the  architecture,  though  this  is  said  to  be 
the  most  typically  Spanish  city  in  South  America. 
Even  more  than  in  Peru,  the  women  go  about 
shrouded  in  black  mantos,  and  look  so  like  nuns 
that  it  gives  one  a  shock  to  see  a  gay  cavalier,  booted 
and  spurred,  striding  along  beside  a  couple  of  them 
in  laughing  and  evidently  more  or  less  flirtatious 
converse.  So  neither  is  the  charm  in  any  singularity 

1 68 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

of  costume.     It  is  a  delicious,  pervading,  entrancing 
something  that  eludes  one. 

All  the  morning  I  have  been  out  walking  with 
Berenice.  Just  walking  through  street  after  street. 
She  was  bored  and  said  it  was  "crude" — which 
means,  poor  child,  that  it  is  not  in  Gaveston's  colors 
— but  I  was  bewitched,  and  would  have  walked  on 
all  day,  I  think,  but  for  her  obvious  weariness. 

I  found,  away  off  on  some  little  side-street,  some 
low  adobe  buildings — little  shops,  with  the  name  of 
the  proprietor  and  a  list  of  his  principal  wares  in 
bright  blue  letters  on  the  pink-tinted  outer  walls, 
and  festoons  of  garlic  and  Chile  peppers  hanging 
in  the  doorway;  and  over  it  all  a  dull,  red-tiled  roof. 
Why,  Marion,  I  knew  those  very  shops  in  a  sleepy 
little  town  in  Southern  California,  years — no,  just 
a  few  days  ago!  That's  what  it  is,  I  suppose.  It's 
the  glamour  of  youth  renewed  and  sweetened. 

On  the  way  back  to  the  hotel,  walking  down  the 
Street  of  the  Orphans,  we  met  a  man — an  Ameri 
can,  I  knew  at  once  by  his  carriage  and  his  well-cut, 
gray  clothes,  and  the  Panama  hat  pulled  down  over 
his  brow.  We  glanced  at  each  other,  stopped  short, 
took  another  step,  and  stopped  again.  I  was  won 
dering  whether  there  could  be  in  the  world  two 
men  with  eyes  like  that,  and  I  don't  know  what  he 
was  thinking;  but,  anyway,  he  said  "Anne!"  and  I 
said  "Ned!"  in  the  same  breath,  and  then — being 
slaves  of  convention — we  shook  hands  almost  as  if 
we  had  met  last  week,  and  I  presented  him  to  Bere 
nice.  I  think  he  was  almost  as  glad  to  see  me  as  I 
was  to  see  him,  though. 

169 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

He's  just  the  same  old  Ned.  His  hair,  as  he  un 
covered,  showed  gray,  but  the  big,  dark,  steady, 
fearless  gray  eyes  are  the  same.  He  has  gained 
something  in  dignity,  but  lost  nothing  in  cordial 
ity  or  in  frank  friendliness.  He  is  the  Honorable 
Edwards  Rhodes  Barrington,  American  Ambassador 
to  Brazil — but  he  is  also  the  same  dear,  unassuming, 
genial,  interested  Ned.  He  got  rather  run  down  in 
Rio,  and  came  over  here  for  the  change  of  air  and 
to  see  the  country.  He  is  to  dine  with  us  to-night 
— and  I  think  it  is  perfectly  absurd  for  anybody 
to  suppose  I'm  chaperoning  Berenice!  Why,  she's 
years  older  than  I  am! 

Oh  yes,  Gaveston  is  here,  and  so  is  Mrs.  Rankin, 
both  at  another  hotel,  where  they  supposed  we  were 
going  also — dream  phantoms  that  haunt  my  wak 
ing  hours.  But  they  can't  torment  me  long.  For 
now  I  know  that  I  am  Youth — incarnate,  unquench 
able,  invincible  Youth — and  the  world  is  mine!  Of 
course  Peter  Pan  wouldn't  grow  up!  Who  would, 
if  he  could  help  it? 

Santiago,  April  i7th. 

A  week  has  passed  since  I  wrote  you — a  week  of 
sunshine  with  counter-currents  and  head- winds,  of 
baffling  successfully  and  being  miserably  baffled,  of 
delightful  social  intercourse  on  the  lid  of  an  active 
volcano,  of — anything  you  like  that  is  charming  and 
exasperating  and  rather  terrifying  and  altogether 
contradictory. 

Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you,  it's  more  than  the 

170 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

seasons  that  are  topsy-turvy  down  here!  Still, 
when  apples  and  grapes  are  hawked  about  the 
streets  in  April,  when  chrysanthemums  come  with 
Easter  and  the  south  wind  is  cold,  I  suppose  it  is 
utterly  unreasonable  to  expect  to  find  anything  as 
one  knows  it,  even  one's  self.  But  I  have  learned 
what  really  lies  at  the  end  of  the  path  Through  the 
Looking-Glass.  It's  South  America. 
The  comparison  holds  even  to  the  Jabberwock: 

"  Beware  the  Jabberwock,  my  son! 

The  jaws  that  bite,  the  claws  that  catch! 
Beware  the  Jubjub  bird,  and  shun 
The  frumious  Bandersnatch!" 

Things  about  me  here  are  perfectly  charming  in 
themselves.  The  people  I  meet  are  all  attractive 
in  some  way — except  Mrs.  Rankin,  and  even  she 
is  interesting  as  a  type;  the  city  is  lovely,  the 
weather  perfect,  and  we  are  being  entertained  in 
most  delightful  ways.  But  everything,  mental, 
moral  and  physical,  is  upside  down  and  hind  side 
before  and  wrong  side  out  to  my  vision,  and  I'm 
honestly  afraid  to  look  in  my  mirror,  lest  I  discover 
that  I  am  gravely  and  with  great  dignity  standing 
on  my  head,  like  Biddy  Maginnis  at  the  photog 
rapher's. 

Absolutely  the  only  thing  I  can  plant  my  foot  on 
to-day  with  any  hope  of  its  sustaining  me  is  Ned 
Barrington's  friendship.  He  is  like  a  rock,  as  he 
always  was.  I  never  knew  anybody  else  of  whom 
I  felt  as  sure  as  I  always  have  of  Ned,  and  yet  he 
is  practically  the  only  man  I  ever  knew  well  who 

171 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

never  even  pretended  to  be  sentimentally  attracted 
toward  me.  Perhaps  that  is  the  reason  I  am  sure 
of  him — he  never  belittled  anything  in  his  life.  He 
is  honestly  interested  in  everything  that  concerns 
his  friends,  and  is  ready  to  help  when  and  where  he 
can;  but  he  never  displays  the  slightest  curiosity 
about  things  they  prefer  not  to  talk  about,  and  he 
never  pretends  anything  he  doesn't  feel.  And  I 
never  knew  anybody  else,  man  or  woman,  of  whom 
I  could  say  as  much. 

I  wonder  why  he  has  never  married?  It  isn't 
possible  that  a  man  with  his  capacity  for  friendship 
never  loved  a  woman — and  it  seems  equally  impos 
sible  that  any  woman  whom  he  loved  and  wooed 
could  continue  to  resist  him.  Yet,  now  that  I 
think  of  it,  I  can't  quite  imagine  Ned  making  love. 
He  is  always  so  warmly,  genially,  interestedly  un 
sentimental — the  apotheosis  of  brotherhood.  Prob 
ably,  however,  that  is  because  I  never  aroused  in 
him  more  than  a  fraternal  interest.  Certainly  there 
is  still  in  the  depths  of  those  deep  eyes  of  his  the 
turbulence  and  revolt  and  pain  that  puzzled  me 
years  ago.  I  used  to  wonder  then  whether  a  woman 
had  hurt  him  that  much.  I  wonder  now.  And  I 
am  perfectly  aware,  Mrs.  Livingston,  that  it  is  none 
of  my  business,  so  you  needn't  trouble  to  remind  me ! 

I  wrote  you  a  week  ago  to-day,  and  Ned  was 
coming  to  dinner.  He  came — but  in  the  mean  time 
things  happened. 

When  I  had  finished  my  letter  to  you,  I  felt  the 
need  of  tea,  so  Berenice  and  I  went  to  a  little  tea 
room-cafe-kind  of  place  down-stairs  to  get  it — and 

172 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

there,  in  a  remote  and  cosy  corner,  tete-a-tete,  sat 
Uncle  Beverley  and  the  Bandersnatch — she  tense, 
alert,  avid,  balancing  for  the  final  pounce,  and  he 
wearing  an  earnest  expression  that  I  have  learned 
to  know.  I  have  seen  it  before — twice. 

One  glance  showed  me  that  they  hadn't  been 
there  long,  as  the  man  was  just  bringing  their  tea, 
and  consequently  that  matters  probably  had  not 
gone  very  far.  Well,  of  course,  there  was  just  one 
thing  for  me  to  do,  and  that  was  to  play  football. 
I  did  it  with  neatness  and  despatch,  too.  In  fact, 
I  rather  pride  myself  upon  that  tackle,  and  I  took 
such  a  fall  out  of  the  promoter  lady  that  she  didn't 
fully  get  her  breath  back  during  that  half.  Far  be 
it  from  me  to  imply  that  everything  went  my  way 
that  afternoon,  however. 

The  table  they  had  chosen  was  small,  but  I  was 
enthusiastically  confident  that  it  could  be  made  to 
accommodate  us  also,  and  though  they  displayed 
no  feverish  anxiety  that  it  should,  it  did.  Berenice 
squeezed  into  a  seat  facing  the  door,  while  I  sat  with 
my  back  to  it. 

I  knew  that  Mr.  Ames  had  presented  his  letters 
to  the  Minister  that  afternoon,  and  insisted  upon 
hearing  all  about  it  at  once.  Of  course,  he  had 
been  told  at  the  Legation  that  Ned  Barrington  was 
in  town,  and  said  so,  but  I  was  not  to  be  caught 
with  that  chaff.  I  knew  that  if  Mrs.  Rankin  dis 
covered  that  the  new  Ambassador  to  Brazil  was  to 
dine  with  us,  she  would  make  it  impossible  for  me 
not  to  ask  her  to  meet  him,  which  I  had  no  intention 
of  doing.  So  I  admitted  that  Mr.  Barrington  was 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

an  old  friend  of  mine,  expressed  mild  pleasure  in 
the  prospect  of  seeing  him  sooner  than  I  had  antici 
pated,  and  veered  off  into  an  expatiation  on  the 
beauties  of  Santiago  and  our  walk  that  morning. 

Berenice,  who  had  watched  all  this  from  under 
half-closed  lids,  bethought  herself  all  at  once  of 
some  postals  I  had  bought,  concerning  which  she 
had  been  scornfully  indifferent  at  the  time,  and 
offered  to  go  up-stairs  for  them,  as  I  might  like  to 
show  them  to  the  others.  I  was  greatly  delighted 
by  this  evident  desire  to  lend  a  hand,  but  as  the 
postals  were  really  rather  commonplace,  said  it  was 
hardly  worth  while. 

That  precocious  young  person  gleamed  a  derisive 
eye  at  me,  and  presently  asked  Uncle,  quite  with 
the  air  of  changing  the  subject,  whether  he  had 
happened  to  see  anywhere  an  awfully  good-looking 
American  in  gray  clothes  and  a  Panama  hat,  where 
upon  I  promptly  discovered  an  immediate  and 
pressing  need  for  those  postals.  She  drooped  her 
eyelids  again  and  departed  for  them.  When  she 
returned,  Mr.  Gaveston  was  with  her.  Of  course, 
she  had  seen  him  pass  the  door. 

Well,  our  little  table  was  already  crowded.  To 
introduce  another  person  was  out  of  the  question; 
Mrs.  Rankin  sweetly  refused  to  move — she  was  "so 
comfy,"  she  said;  and  there  I  was,  'twixt  tweedle 
dum  and  tweedledee,  the  devil  and  the  deep  sea. 
I  knew  that  if  I  transferred  myself  to  another  table 
with  Berenice  and  Gaveston,  Uncle  Beverley  would 
not  propose  to  this  woman  under  my  very  eye;  but 
I  also  knew  that  she  would  remove  him  at  once  to 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

some  secluded  spot,  where  moth  and  rust  would  not 
corrupt  nor  thieves  break  in  and  steal,  and  there 
she  would  purr  him  back  to  the  place  where  he  left 
off,  the  more  easily  because  he  was  a  little  vexed 
with  me  for  my  tactless  interruption. 

However,  I  couldn't  let  Berenice  occupy  a  distant 
table  alone  with  the  Jabberwock,  and  there  was  none 
available  near  us,  so  I  went  with  them.  But  I 
emulated  the  parrot  who  didn't  say  much — with 
results.  Consequently,  when  the  Bandersnatch  and 
her  prey,  having  finished  their  tea,  would  have 
passed  us  with  brief  smiles,  I  detained  them  long 
enough  to  urge  them  to  go  without  delay  to  see  an 
equestrian  statue  of  San  Martin  that  I  had  dis 
covered  that  morning,  and  then  I  innocently  asked 
Uncle  Beverley  whether  it  was  true  that  San  Martin 
was  a  greater  general  than  any  we  had  ever  had  in 
the  United  States. 

My  dear,  the  rod  of  Moses  wasn't  a  circumstance 
to  that  suggestion!  The  torrent  I  evoked  gushed 
and  flowed  until  Mrs.  Rankin,  smiling  somewhat 
acidly,  begged  him  not  to  let  her  interrupt  him,  but 
really  she  must  leave  us  because  she  had  an  impor 
tant  engagement  at  her  hotel  for  which  she  was 
already  late.  Of  course,  he  would  not  permit  her 
to  return  alone,  but  I  thought  he  was  safe  for  that 
day.  He  went  off  spouting  generals,  from  Wash 
ington  to  Funston,  and  her  cue  was  to  listen  ab- 
sorbedly. 

I  dressed  for  dinner,  light-heartedly  conscious  that 
I  was  something  of  a  strategist  myself,  having  block 
ed  both  Gaveston  and  the  lady,  and  feeling  that  I 

175 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

had  earned  the  right  to  a  care-free  hour  with  Ned. 
I  was  just  wishing  that  Uncle  Beverley  would  feel 
moved  to  take  Berenice  off  somewhere  and  let  Ned 
and  me  be  children  together  again  as  we'd  like  to, 
when  he  appeared  at  our  door  to  say  that  he  had 
accepted  an  invitation  to  dine  that  evening  with 
Mrs.  Rankin. 

Again  there  was  nothing  for  me  but  to  tackle — 
and  by  that  time  I  was  beginning  to  feel  like  a  foot 
ball  myself.  I  told  Uncle  Beverley  that  the  Hon 
orable  Edwards  Rhodes  Barrington  was  to  dine 
with  us,  and  intimated  that  the  whole  purpose  of 
the  dinner  would  be  thwarted  if  he  were  not  there. 
Of  course,  this  titillated  pleasantly,  and  he  hummed 
and  hawed  his  gratification,  but  still  he  did  not  feel 
that  he  could  break  a  dinner  engagement,  even  for 
— though,  to  be  sure,  it  was  very  informal,  this 
little  dinner  of  Mrs.  Rankin's,  and  perhaps — but  yet, 
still,  nevertheless,  however  and  notwithstanding,  he 
had  promised  to  be  there,  and  much  as  he  regretted 
not  meeting  Mr.  Barrington,  he  really  could  not — 

I  hated  to  do  it,  but  my  next  play  was  forced 
upon  me,  and  I  made  it  smiling.  First,  I  let  him 
infer  that  I  had  not  finished  speaking  when  he  so 
rudely  interrupted,  and  when  he  had  apologized 
sufficiently,  I  stated  my  intention  of  asking  Mrs. 
Rankin  and  her  cousin  to  dine  with  us  also.  After 
which,  I  forgot  all  I  ever  knew  about  proper  com 
binations  of  food  and  drink,  and  kept  him  so  busy 
deciding  upon  extra  dishes  and  wines  that  Mrs.  R. 
arrived  before  it  even  occurred  to  him  that  he 
ought  to  go  after  her. 

176 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Conversation  had  to  be  more  or  less  general 
throughout  the  evening,  and  I  asked  Ned  to  take 
the  ladies  back  to  their  hotel  —  and  there  you 
are! 

That  is  what  happened  to  my  first  play-hour  with 
Ned — and  that  is  what  has  happened  to  every  one 
since.  I've  had  some  beautiful  pots  of  fragrant 
ointment,  but  they've  all  been  full  of  flies. 

I  forgot  to  say  that  when  we  came  up  from  tea 
in  the  afternoon  we  found  Mr.  Gay  lord's  cards.  He 
is  the  American  Minister.  The  next  day — Satur 
day — Berenice  and  I  left  cards  at  the  Legation,  but 
Mrs.  Gaylord  was  not  at  home.  Sunday  morning 
came  a  note  from  her,  inviting  us  to  tea  that  after 
noon,  which  was  an  altogether  delightful  experience. 
We  met  there  several  pleasant  Americans,  notably 
some  charming  people  named  Yale,  who  called  upon 
us  the  same  evening.  The  Gaylords,  too,  are  both 
very  attractive  and  very  cordial. 

After  tea  we  drove  in  Cousino  Park,  a  beautiful 
place,  and  for  the  first  time  saw  the  Andes,  which 
surprised  me  greatly.  I  had  pictured  them  as  a 
high  wall  against  the  city — impending,  as  it  were — 
instead  of  which  they  are  at  some  distance,  and 
are  very  uneven  in  height.  Of  course,  this  hazy, 
autumnal  weather  has  something  to  do  with  the 
effect  of  distance,  and  the  first  rain  will  bring  them 
miles  nearer. 

Neither  was  there  much  snow  upon  them;  but 
their  color — oh,  their  color!  Flushed  to  a  most  ex 
quisite  rose,  they  fairly  palpitated  in  the  afterglow, 
and  creeping  up  from  their  base  were  mysterious 

177 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

blue  shadows — not  purple  and  amethyst,  as  you 
would  imagine,  but  a  ghostly  gray-blue. 

When  their  tints  grew  ashen,  we  turned  toward 
home,  and  as  it  is  evidently  the  custom  to  race  back 
from  this  park,  the  drive  in  the  dusk  was  rather 
exciting,  reminding  me  of  an  experience  I  once  had 
scudding  down  the  darkling  Thames  at  New  Lon 
don,  after  a  Yale-Harvard  race  that  had  been  rowed 
at  sunset.  There  were  many  carriages,  all  well- 
driven,  but  our  heavy  team  and  rubber-tired  vic 
toria  passed  them  all. 

Apropos  of  mountains,  it  seems  very  probable  now 
that  we  shall  not  be  able  to  cross  the  Pass.  Mr. 
Ames  will  be  detained  here  some  time  longer  by 
business,  and  everybody  insists  that  it  would  be 
the  height  of  folly  for  Berenice  and  me  to  attempt 
the  trip  after  the  snows  have  set  in — as  they  may 
any  day.  "Oh,  ever  thus  from  childhood's  hour!" 
The  way  my  dear  gazelles  "glad  me  with  a  soft 
black  eye"  is  to  kick  me  in  the  face  and  give  me  one! 

The  only  feature  of  this  whole  trip  that  I  had  set 
my  heart  on,  and  to  which  I  looked  forward  with 
lively  and  unmitigated  joy,  was  crossing  the  Uspal- 
lata  Pass — so,  of  course,  we  shall  go  down  through 
the  Strait.  Como  no? 

However,  they  can't  defraud  me  of  my  silver 
lining,  and  I've  seen  wonderful  photographs  of  the 
scenery  in  the  Strait.  Besides,  one  of  the  diplo 
matic  ladies  told  me  of  an  interesting  trip  she  once 
made  to  Juncal,*and  I  am  trying  to  arrange  an  es- 

*  Pronounced  Hoon-cdrJ. 
178 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

cort  to  that  point  for  Mr.  Yale,  who  expects  to  go 
over  to  Buenos  Aires  next  week,  en  route  for  Europe. 
If  I  succeed,  we'll  see  something  of  the  Cordillera,* 
at  least,  as  Juncal  is  at  the  end  of  the  railroad  on 
the  Chilean  side. 

Monday  Mrs.  Gaylord  drove  around  for  Berenice 
and  me  and  took  us  to  call  on  one  or  two  of  the 
Ministeresses.  It's  odd  how  many  of  the  European 
diplomats  down  here  have  American  wives;  and 
thus  far,  all  we  have  met  have  been  charming. 

Tuesday  we  breakfasted  with  the  Bandersnatch, 
who  did  all  she  could  to  throw  Berenice  to  the 
Jabberwock  and  Ned  to  me,  reserving  Mr.  Ames 
for  herself,  and  again  I  gave  an  exhibition  of  ground- 
and-lofty  tumbling  in  my  effort  to  be  in  three  places 
at  once  and  to  keep  in  touch  with  everything  all  the 
time.  Of  course,  I  spoiled  my  own  day,  but  I  flatter 
myself  I  spoiled  everybody  else's  as  well. 

On  the  way  home  we  stopped  at  a  florist's  to  get 
some  flowers,  and  bought  La  France  roses  —  great 
big,  fine-textured,  exquisite  buds — for  one  peso  a 
dozen,  just  now  the  equivalent  of  seventeen  cents! 
When  I  told  Mrs.  Yale  what  I  had  done,  she  held  up 
her  hands,  crying: 

"Why  on  earth  did  you  go  to  that  place?  It's 
the  most  expensive  in  town!" 

We  have  also  learned  that  the  flowers  in  our 
rooms  are  a  part  of  the  regular  attendance.  Twice 
a  week  the  proprietor  himself  comes  in  to  arrange 
them;  now  lovely,  heavy-headed,  pale  roses — again 

*  Pronounced  Cor-deel-yair-ah. 
179 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

eloquent  of  Southern  California — now  bunches  of 
gorgeous  dahlias,  now  fringy,  pungent  chrysanthe 
mums. 

And  the  fruits!  Everywhere  along  the  streets 
and  in  the  Pasaje,*  a  sort  of  arcade  over  by  the 
Plaza,  are  displayed  the  same  wonderful  fruits  that 
we  saw  at  Llai-Llai  coming  up  from  Valparaiso, 
beautifully  arranged.  Many  large,  round,  flat, 
basket  trays,  for  example,  have  splendid  white 
grapes  and  bright  Tokays  piled  high  around  their 
edges,  green  leaves  and  tendrils  peeping  out  here 
and  there,  all  giving  the  effect  of  enormous  wreaths 
dropped  by  some  prodigal  Bacchante.  They  have 
a  pretty  habit  here  of  always  having  fresh  green 
leaves  between  the  basket  and  whatever  it  may 
contain,  whether  fruit  or  vegetables. 

The  fascination  of  this  place  still  grips  me,  and  I 
hate  the  thought  of  leaving  it.  I  love  it!  I  love 
to  roam  about  its  streets,  just  looking  at  the  people 
and  the  buildings — though  I  freely  admit  that,  ex 
cept  in  isolated  instances,  neither  is  especially  re 
markable.  It  is  a  queer,  inexplicable  charm,  but 
it  is  strong,  and  I'd  like  to  stay  and  stay  and  stay! 
Only  I'd  like  it  to  be  at  some  future  time,  when  the 
swains  have  ceased  from  troubling  and  the  widows 
— including  yours  truly — are  at  rest.  Heaven  fore- 
fend  that  I  should  ever  wish  to  prolong  the  present 
vigil ! 

Ned  asked  me  the  other  day  how  long  we  had 
known  Mr.  Gaveston,  and  when  I  told  him,  he 

*  Pronounced  Pah-sah-hay. 
180 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

wagged  his  head  and  looked  solemn.  Then  I  begged 
him  to  speak  to  Mr.  Ames  about  it,  if  he  knew  or 
learned  anything  of  this  Englishman,  which  he 
seemed  rather  reluctant  to  promise,  though  he  knows 
nothing  about  him  now  except  what  he  has  seen. 

I  had  gathered  a  notion,  even  before  this,  that 
Ned  didn't  like  Uncle  Beverley  very  well,  so  I  took 
this  occasion  to  tell  him  a  lot  about  the  fine  side 
of  the  man,  and  I  think  it  did  some  good,  for  Ned 
has  been  more  cordial  to  him  since.  I  would  have 
given  something  to  unburden  myself  fully  on  the 
subject,  but  I  was  at  the  moment  so  exasperated 
with  our  uncle  that  I  didn't  dare  trust  myself  to 
speak  of  anything  but  his  virtues. 

I  had  that  day  made  one  last,  desperate  attempt 
to  arouse  him  to  a  perception  of  our  responsibility 
in  this  Gaveston  affair,  and  he  had  informed  me 
that  he  had  had  several  long  talks  with  the  English 
man,  and  that  while,  of  course,  Berenice's  name 
had  not  been  mentioned,  he  had  satisfied  himself 
that  we  need  give  ourselves  no  uneasiness  in  the 
matter. 

Then,  in  the  kindest  way,  he  intimated  that  I  was 
doing  a  prodigious  amount  of  barking  up  the  wrong 
tree,  and  that  if  I  had  been  any  kind  of  a  watch 
dog — and  his  smile  implied  that  naturally  it  was 
absurd  to  expect  anything  of  the  sort  from  an  orna 
mental  little  creature  like  me,  but  still,  if  I  had  been 
any  kind  of  a  watch-dog — I  would  have  known  from 
the  first,  as  he  had,  that  Shafter  Blakeney  and  not 
Gaveston  was  the  man  to  set  my  teeth  in.  He  said 
Mrs.  Rankin  thought  so,  too!  I  wonder  how  much 

181 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

of  this  story  she  has  wormed  out  of  him?     Still, 
he's  an  Ames.     I  don't  believe  she  got  much  of  it. 

He  then  unfolded  the  remarkable  theory  that  all 
this  apparent  interest  in  the  Englishman  is  part  of 
a  conspiracy  between  Berenice,  Blakeney  and  Perry 
Waite,  to  frighten  us  into  giving  up  the  rest  of  the 
trip,  lest  she  marry  this  stranger  out  of  hand,  and 
into  taking  her  back  to  New  York  and  her  first  love. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  anything  as  fantastic  as  that? 
And  the  dear  man  firmly  believes  it! 

When  I  retorted  that,  although  I  could  not  ex 
plain  further  without  betraying  confidence,  I  had 
reason  to  know  that  Berenice  was  not  anxious  to 
return  either  to  New  York  or  to  young  Waite,  he 
looked  a  little  startled  for  a  moment,  and  then 
smiled  with  tolerant  kindness  while  he  assured  me 
that  this,  too,  was  part  of  "the  conspiracy."  He 
said:  "Berenice  is  an  Ames,  and  deep — deep!" 
Which  is  truer  than  he,  being  an  Ames  himself,  will 
ever  fully  realize. 

However,  I  am  puzzled  about  Shafter  Blakeney. 
I  was  a  little  surprised  that  he  elected  to  stay  in 
Valparaiso  as  long  as  we  did,  when  his  parents, 
whom  he  had  not  seen  for  several  years,  were  wait 
ing  for  him  within  a  few  hours'  journey.  But  he 
did  stay,  and  came  up,  as  I  think  I  wrote  you,  on 
the  train  with  us.  When  he  arrived  here,  he  went 
directly  out  to  the  hacienda,  where  his  father  is 
very  ill,  but  returned  the  next  day  and  has  been 
here  ever  since — "on  business,"  he  says,  which  is 
quite  probable,  though  he  seems  to  have  little  or 
nothing  to  do. 

182 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Uncle  Beverley  scowls  at  him  and  Berenice  snubs 
him,  neither  of  which  can  be  pleasant,  but  his  calm, 
courteous  manner  never  varies,  and  he  keeps  on 
coming.  I  wonder — it  hadn't  occurred  to  me  be 
fore,  but  is  it  possible,  although  he  is  tongue-tied 
and  bound  by  his  loyalty  to  his  cousin,  that  he 
lingers  on  because  of  Berenice?  It  doesn't  seem 
quite  like  him,  but  now  I  think  of  it,  while  he  talks 
principally  to  me,  he  watches  her  constantly.  I 
wonder?  My  shutters  will  be  shaken  clear  off, 
Marion,  if  this  keeps  up! 

The  mail  came  Sunday  morning,  and  I  had  such 
a  happy,  comforted  letter  from  Helen.  She  said 
she  felt  so  safe  about  her  dear  girl,  now  that  we 
had  taken  her  away  from  New  York  and  that  dread 
ful  young  man.  There  was  also  a  line  from  you, 
written  after  receiving  the  letter  I  sent  back  by  the 
pilot,  assuring  me  that  I  had  done  the  right  and 
the  wise  thing.  I  wonder  what  you  think  about  it 
by  this  time!  Me  and  Wisdom,  forsooth!  Hoch 
der  Kaiser! 

A  perfectly  delightful  experience,  Wednesday,  was 
a  visit  to  the  hacienda  of  a  very  prominent  Chilean 
gentleman,  Don  Jos£  Carter.  It  is  odd,  by-the-way, 
to  find  so  many  Chilean  families  descended  from 
Englishmen — or  Irishmen — who  came  here  many 
years  ago.  McKenna,  Rogers,  Edwards,  Walker, 
are  all  Chilean  names  of  distinction  now. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gaylord  had  been  invited  to  go  with 
us,  but  neither  Mrs.  Gaylord  nor  Mr.  Ames  could 
go,  so  we  were  only  four,  Mr.  Carter  meeting  us  at 
the  station.  It  was  a  perfect  morning,  and  we  went 

183 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

by  rail  to  a  most  attractive  little  suburb  about  half 
an  hour  away,  where  Don  Jose  lives.  He  took  us 
to  his  house  and  showed  us  his  garden,  his  grape- 
arbors  and  swimming-pool  and  stables  and  poultry- 
yard,  while  the  carriage  was  made  ready. 

Then  we  drove  through  beautiful  farming  coun 
try,  with  hills  all  about  and  the  snow-capped  Andes 
rising  in  wonder  to  the  east,  coming  finally  to  the 
old  Spanish  road,  built  through  virgin  country  from 
Panama  to  the  Strait,  in  those  ancient,  cruel  days 
of  the  Conquistadores.  Now  it  is  bordered — at  this 
point,  at  least — by  stately  poplars  and  fringed  by 
fertile  fields. 

All  the  way  we  had  been  passing  adobe  huts,  but 
as  we  came  into  Don  Jose's  territory — a  princi 
pality  in  itself — from  every  doorway  and  from  be 
hind  every  wall  brown,  wistful-eyed,  smiling  chil 
dren  began  to  appear.  Don  Jos6,  who  might  pose 
for  a  portrait  of  St.  Nicholas,  so  kindly  and  youth 
ful  is  his  white-bearded  face,  glanced  at  us  rather 
deprecatingly,  saying: 

"You  will  not  mind  if  we  stop  here  and  there  for 
a  moment?  You  see,  I  always  give  the  children 
chocolates  if  they  have  clean  hands  and  faces,  and 
— they  expect  it.  I  should  not  like  to  disappoint 
them." 

They  expected  it,  indeed.  They  sprang  up  by 
the  score,  some  swarming  eagerly  out  to  the  car 
riage,  some  clinging  timidly  to  the  walls,  and  for 
each  he  produced  from  his  inexhaustible  pockets  one 
of  the  silver- wrapped  slivers  of  chocolate  that  for 
children  of  Spanish  blood  or  extraction  seem  to  take 

184 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

the  place  of  candy.  Sometimes  he  tossed  a  hand 
ful  into  a  group  and  then  stood  up  in  the  victoria 
to  see  that  it  was  fairly  distributed,  calling  to  the 
greedy  larger  children  to  give  the  littlest  ones  their 
share. 

Finally  Berenice,  wholly  won  by  the  charm  of 
this  courtly,  clever,  lovable  old  man,  exclaimed : 

"  But  that  one  is  very  dirty!  Look  at  him!  You 
give  them  chocolates  anyway,  Mr.  Carter,  whether 
they  are  clean  or  not!"  For  a  moment  he  seemed 
rather  abashed.  Then  he  looked  up  with  a  hu 
morous  gleam  of  vindication. 

"  But  I  always  tell  them  that  they  must  be  clean 
when  I  come  next  week,"  he  said. 

Perhaps  no  man  now  living  in  Chile  has  done 
more  for  the  improvement  of  his  people  than  he, 
and  certainly  this  movement  toward  clean  hands 
and  faces  on  the  part  of  his  junior  tenantry  is  a 
step  in  the  right  direction,  for  if  godliness  were  de 
pendent  upon  cleanliness,  it  would  go  hard  with  the 
lower-class  individual  in  most  of  these  countries. 

Mr.  Carter  told  us  that  so  eager  are  these  small 
folk  to  please  him,  however,  that  one  little  boy  ap 
peared  at  his  carriage  wheel,  a  week  or  two  ago,  with 
his  face  thickly  powdered  to  make  it  look  whiter. 

All  this  time  we  were  driving  through  tree-bor 
dered  roads,  between  splendid  fields,  here  yellow 
stubble  where  grain  had  been  cut,  there  a  green 
glow  of  alfalfa,  then  past  herds  of  fine  cattle.  We 
climbed  a  sugar-loaf  hill  and  saw  all  this  wonderful 
valley  from  a  new  view-point,  and  again  I  cried : 
"California!  The  Santa  Clara  Valley,  this  time, 

185 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

minus  the  live-oaks  and  plus  the  Cordillera!"  Golden 
fields,  softly  stirring  trees,  purpling  hills,  air  like 
purest  crystal — it  was  good  to  be  alive  that  morning ! 

Then  we  were  taken  to  the  house  of  some  very 
delightful  and  hospitable  English  people,  tenants 
and  friends  of  Mr.  Carter's,  and  given  a  Chilean 
breakfast,  the  like  of  which  one  must  be  entertained 
in  a  Chilean  house  of  the  best  sort  to  find.  And 
all  the  time  the  talk  drifted  here  and  there  over  the 
earth's  surface,  touching  lightly  upon  many  aspects 
of  human  life  and  interest,  and  always  that  wonder 
ful,  sweet-hearted  old  man  was  its  pilot. 

He  returned  to  town  with  us  in  the  afternoon,  but 
unfortunately  could  not  accompany  us  to  Mrs 
Yale's,  where  we  were  invited  to  tea.  Gaveston  was 
there,  however,  so  of  course  I  had  to  be  on  duty 
every  minute.  Still,  the  Gaylords  dropped  in,  with 
Ned  and  Mr.  King,  the  Secretary,  and  we  had  a  very 
cheerful  little  time  —  which  was  not  without  its 
sparks,  by-the-way. 

Mr.  Ames  made  occasion  to  mention  Mrs.  Rankin, 
and  Mrs.  Yale  returned  pleasantly,  but  in  a  tone 
for  which  I  could  have  hugged  her: 

"You — admire  Mrs.  Rankin?" 

He  did,  madam.  He  found  this  little  woman  a 
remarkable  compound  of — ah — of  intelligence — I 
believe  he  even  said  intellect — of  courage,  and  of — 
ah — of  appealing  femininity. 

"Possibly,"  said  Mrs.  Yale,  dryly.  "I  don't 
know  her."  Which,  in  this  land  of  general  acquaint 
ance  among  all  Anglo-Saxons,  was  sufficiently  sig 
nificant. 

186 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Uncle  Beverley  looked  bewildered  and  took 
breath  for  further  speech,  but  realized  in  time  that 
the  conversation  was  closed.  I  wonder  whether 
that  will  give  him  pause?  At  any  rate,  it  hasn't 
checked  him  yet. 

Yesterday  the  Gaylords  gave  a  breakfast  at 
Apoquindo,*  a  lovely  resort  out  in  the  hills,  where 
there  are  mineral  baths,  a  fairly  good  hotel,  and 
beautiful  views  of  the  valley  and  mountains  sur 
rounding  Santiago.  The  drive  out  was  a  delight. 
There  were  the  old,  familiar,  tile-roofed  adobes  in 
the  shade  of  big-leaved  fig-trees,  whose  pale  stems 
were  still  dotted  with  the  purple  fruit.  There  were 
the  quaint  old  wells  and  red  geraniums,  hedges  of 
cactus,  lines  of  drooping  pepper-trees,  and  swarms 
of  little  brown,  dirty,  unkempt  urchins. 

I  have  seen  all  these  things  crowded  out  by  the 
great  procession  of  progress,  and  yet  here  they  are, 
as  fresh  and  bright  and  unmussed  as  if  they  had 
never  been  squeezed  out  of  existence.  It  makes  me 
feel  like  one  of  those  silly  pasteboard  things  with 
two  faces,  one  merry  and  the  other  sad.  You  pull 
a  string,  and  flap!  The  figure  is  the  same,  but  the 
face  has  changed.  Some  mighty  energetic  power  is 
at  the  other  end  of  my  string  these  days. 

Mr.  Gaveston  was  not  there — praise  be ! — but  Mrs. 
Rankin  was,  and  so  was  Shafter  Blakeney.  When 
we  started  off  for  a  ramble  after  breakfast — which 
we  had  out  under  the  trees,  by-the-way — I  tried  to 
steal  a  march  on  the  promoter  lady  by  slipping  away 

*  Pronounced  Ap-o-ke€n-do. 
187 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

for  that  quiet  chat  I  am  still  hoping  for  with  Ned, 
knowing  that  Uncle  Beverley  would  stick  closer  than 
a  brother  to  Berenice  as  long  as  Blakeney  was  about. 

But  Mrs.  Gaylord  spoke  to  Ned,  detaining  us  a 
moment,  and  of  course  Mrs.  Rankin  promptly  made 
off  with  Mr.  Ames,  heading  straight  for  the  tall 
timber  and  leaving  me  no  alternative  but  to  work 
at  my  job.  However,  I've  not  been  entirely  idle 
all  these  days,  and  I  don't  think  she'll  screw  him  to 
the  sticking-point  in  any  one  half -hour! 

I  was  rather  worried  last  night,  though.  A  lot 
of  us  went  up  to  the  theatre  near  the  top  of  Santa 
Lucia,  the  beautiful  sugar-loaf  hill  in  the  heart  of 
the  city,  which  has  been  made  into  a  park.  The 
theatre  is  not  among  the  best  here,  I  believe,  but 
nevertheless  we  saw  a  play  so  well  acted  that  we 
had  little  difficulty  in  following  its  story,  although 
we  understood  none  of  the  lines.  I  wonder  how 
often  that  could  be  said  of  second — or  even  first- 
class  companies  at  home? 

After  seeing  two  acts,  we  followed  the  crowd  out 
to  a  paved  and  brilliantly  lighted  terrace,  where  the 
men  smoked  and  many  of  the  women  took  refrescos. 
It  was  warm  and  gay  and  bright,  and  wholly  differ 
ent  from  anything  ever  seen  with  us. 

Then,  instead  of  returning  to  the  theatre,  we 
climbed,  sometimes  by  winding  paths  walled  by 
huge  boulders  and  overhung  with  trees,  sometimes 
by  steps  cut  in  the  solid  rock,  through  little  plazue- 
las,  beside  a  tiny  lake,  across  toy  bridges,  to  the  top 
of  the  hill.  It  was  the  night  of  the  full  moon,  the 
air  was  soft  and  fragrant,  the  city  twinkled  far  be- 

?88 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

low  us,  and  "in  such  a  night,"  even  though  one  be 
neither  Cressid  nor  Thisbe  nor  Dido,  many  things 
may  happen.  Therefore,  I  kept  so  close  beside 
Berenice  that  I  could  overhear  Gaveston's  lightest 
whisper,  thereby  arousing  her  antagonism  and  un 
doing  a  week  of  patient  work. 

I  made  some  effort  to  keep  the  party  together — 
though  it  was  not  my  party;  but  when  it  became 
perfectly  obvious  that  it  was  Mrs.  Rankin's  pur 
pose  to  loiter  behind  with  Mr.  Ames,  Ned  deserted 
the  Yales,  whose  guests  we  were,  and  simply  glued 
himself  to  her  side,  which  so  flustrated  the  Bander- 
snatch  that  she  burbled. 

Imagine  almost  getting  your  claws  into  your  nice, 
fat  mouse,  and  then  having  a  chance  at  a  handsome 
bachelor  ambassador!  It  was  too  much  for  the 
promoter  lady,  and  all  the  way  down  through  the 
shade-checkered  path  we  could  hear  her  nervous, 
flattered  little  laugh. 

But  I  wonder  why  Ned  did  it?  Do  you  suppose 
that  he,  too — ?  Oh,  Marion,  dear,  this  is  the 
Back  of  Beyond,  where  everything  is  otherwise,  and 
where  "if  you  don't  as  you  do,  you  will  do  as  you 
don't  all  your  lives." 

I'm  actually  beginning  to  gibber  —  and  what's 
worse,  I  know  it! 

Santiago,  April  23d. 

No  matter  what  happens  to  me  now,  as  long  as 
my  mind  remains  unclouded  I  shall  have  one  great 
memory,  for  yesterday  I  saw  the  Cordillera. 

189 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

I  wish  I  might  share  it  with  you,  but  I  never  can. 
I  shall  never  be  able  to  tell  you,  even  faintly,  about 
this  experience,  because  man  has  made  no  words 
to  fit  the  austere  sublimity  of  these  mountains. 

I  have  seen  the  Alps  and  the  Canadian  Rockies, 
and  I  have  gone  away  seething  with  talk  about 
them,  with  desire  to  make  other  people  see  and 
feel  them.  The  Andes  leave  me  dumb.  In  their 
presence  earth  and  its  mediums  fall  away,  superflu 
ous,  and  only  the  immortal  soul  remains — awed,  up 
lifted,  hushed — Power  answering  Power  in  perfect 
silence.  Of  the  minor  details  of  the  journey  I  have 
much  to  tell  you.  Of  the  one  great  experience — 
nothing.  It  was  like  seeing  Love — or  Death — naked. 

The  end  of  last  week  was  like  the  first.  There 
was  a  dinner  at  the  Yales  and  another  at  the  Ameri 
can  Legation,  Mr.  Ames  gave  a  breakfast,  and  there 
were  several  smaller,  informal  affairs  between,  all 
involving  more  or  less  the  same  people.  And  after 
meeting  somewhere  at  breakfast,  some  of  us  were 
sure  to  foregather  elsewhere,  frequently  without 
intention,  at  tea-time,  and  again,  with  only  slight 
variations  of  the  party,  at  dinner. 

It  was  very  gay,  but  over  it  all,  for  me,  hung  the 
half  unreal  but  wholly  poignant  horror  of  the  Jab 
ber  wock  and  the  Bandersnatch.  I  baffled  them  at 
every  point,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  yet  always  with 
the  clutching  consciousness,  so  familiar  in  dreams, 
that  the  Things  I  fled  came  a  little  nearer  at  each 
turn  and  would  soon  overwhelm  me.  As  yet,  they 
have  not  caught  me. 

Then,  early  Tuesday  morning,  we  started  for 

190 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Juncal.  It  had  rained  in  the  valley  in  the  mean 
time,  and  when  the  clouds  broke,  the  mountains 
stood  clearly  forth,  their  crests  white. 

We  took  all  our  warmest  clothing,  and  Mrs.  Yale 
appeared  at  the  station  laden  with  two  large  lunch- 
baskets,  in  addition  to  her  rugs  and  wraps  and  suit 
case  and  all  Mr.  Yale's  travelling  impedimenta. 
This  seemed  to  us  very  kind,  but  just  a  little  fussy, 
for  were  we  not  to  spend  the  night  at  the  comfort 
able  inn  at  Juncal,  where  they  are  accustomed  to 
feed  hungry  hordes?  And  were  we  not  seeking 
experience,  anyway?  However,  the  lunch-baskets 
were  stowed  with  the  rest  of  the  luggage,  and  we 
were  off — the  Yales,  Ned  Barrington,  the  Ameses 
and  I.  No  Jabber wock,  no  Bandersnatch — "Oh, 
frabjous  day!" 

We  retraced  our  route  from  Valparaiso  as  far  as 
Llai-Llai,  where  we  changed  cars;  but  it  was  no 
longer  hot  and  dusty,  and  there  was  no  question 
now  that  the  Andes  were  all  there.  I  wished  that 
Shafter  were  along  to  see  them,  but  though  the 
Yales  urged  him  to  accompany  us,  he  said  he  must 
go  out  to  the  hacienda  to  see  his  family.  Oh,  my 
prophetic  soul!  Berenice  was  to  be  out  of  town 
for  two  days. 

From  Llai-Llai  we  turned  east  and  ran  through 
orchards  and  vineyards — California  again,  but  Cen 
tral  California  now,  far  from  the  desert  south.  At 
Los  Andes  we  stopped  for  breakfast,  paddling  our 
way  in  the  rain  through  puddled  streets  to  a  very 
decent  little  hotel,  and  changed  cars  again,  this 
time  to  a  narrow-gauge. 
13  191 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Then  began  the  real  climb,  beside  torrential 
mountain  streams,  around  mighty  granite  shoulders, 
climbing — climbing — up  out  of  the  rain  and  into 
the  snow.  The  little  engine  puffed  and  heaved, 
and  the  train  moved  so  slowly  that  some  of  the 
men  hopped  off  and  ran  easily  alongside;  but  they 
didn't  run  far  in  that  altitude!  Occasionally  we 
stopped  at  a  little  station  and  went  out  to  look  and 
look  at  the  bleak  summits  towering  above  us,  veiled 
here  and  there  in  sullen,  sodden  clouds. 

It  stopped  snowing  and  got  pretty  cold,  and  our 
fellow-passengers  began  to  muffle  themselves  gro 
tesquely  in  nondescript  wraps  of  wool  and  skins — 
soft  brown  ponchos,  rugs  of  fluffy,  yellow  guanaco 
fur,  knitted  scarfs  wound  about  their  heads,  blank 
ets  of  all  colors — anything  and  everything  that 
might  afford  a  little  additional  warmth,  while  we 
of  snowy  climes  were  still  quite  comfortable  in  our 
ordinary  winter  garments. 

And  so  we  came,  at  last,  late  in  the  short  after 
noon,  to  Juncal,  a  huddle  of  tiny,  low  buildings — 
an  inn  and  some  stables,  nothing  more — cowering 
against  the  rocky,  snow-sprinkled  wall  across  the 
narrow  valley.  We  were  told  to  scramble  for  a 
coach  and  get  to  the  hotel  as  soon  as  possible,  leav 
ing  all  the  luggage  to  one  of  the  men,  as  the  train 
was  crowded  and  it  would  be  a  case  of  first  come 
first  served  in  the  matter  of  rooms. 

So  we  tumbled  out  in  the  chill,  gray  light,  already 
awed  by  the  grim,  dark,  cloud- wrapped  piles  about 
us,  and  into  outlandish,  high-swung,  uncomfortable 
little  vehicles,  each  seating  five  people,  two  on  a 

192 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

side  and  one  with  the  driver,  without  an  inch  of 
room  to  spare  anywhere.  In  these  we  were  jerked 
unceremoniously  across  the  valley  and  dumped  at 
the  low,  narrow  doorway  of  the  inn. 

We  entered  a  small  room — office,  bar,  lounge  and 
parlor,  as  we  afterward  learned — with  unpainted 
wooden  walls,  a  bench  on  the  right  and  a  short 
counter  on  the  left.  On  the  counter  were  decanters 
of  muddy  chicha,  and  behind  it  were  shelves  full 
of  bottles  and  glasses,  which  caught  the  dull  light 
in  gray  glints.  Behind  the  counter,  also,  stood  the 
proprietor  —  a  tall,  fair  man  who  looked  like  a 
Scandinavian  and  spoke  all  the  tongues  of  the 
earth — and  a  woman,  apparently  his  wife;  while 
in  front,  pushing,  elbowing,  gesticulating,  a  motley 
crowd  clamored  for  accommodations. 

They  made  their  demands  in  Spanish,  in  French, 
in  English,  German,  Italian,  and  a  few  other  lan 
guages  that  I  could  not  identify,  and  to  each  that 
polyglot  proprietor  returned  a  soft  answer. 

"Slowly,  gentlemen,  slowly!  There  are  beds  for 
all — four  in  a  room,  gentlemen.  Always  four  in  a 
room." 

Muffled,  mummy-like  figures  leaned  over  the 
counter,  urging,  begging,  vociferating,  and  their 
eager  breath  congealed,  making  grayer  spots  in  the 
gray  air.  Through  the  open  door  one  saw  falling 
snow  against  a  dour  background  that  shut  out  the 
sky.  A  German  waiter  and  porter  hustled  in  and 
out  among  the  people,  some  one  lighted  a  single 
kerosene  lamp,  a  man — more  artful  than  the  rest — 
slipped  behind  the  counter  to  whisper  coaxing, 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

cajoling  words  to  the  woman,  who  smilingly  pushed 
him  out  again,  while  the  calm,  soothing  voice  of 
that  mendacious  proprietor  never  ceased. 

"Estan  camas  para  todos,  sefiores,  todos —  Ja, 
mein  herr,  aber  nicht  allein.  Immer  fier —  Piano, 
piano,  signore!  Pazienza! —  In  just  a  minute,  sir. 
Be  a  little  patient,  please.  There  are  plenty  of — 
Si,  si,  sefiores,  para  todos,  pero  cuatro — siempre 
cuatro — " 

Mr.  Yale  pushed  his  way  to  us,  saying  that  he 
had  found  a  friend  who  would  make  the  fourth  in 
their  room,  and  that  he  hoped  we  three  women 
had  been  given  a  room  by  ourselves.  When  we 
reached  it,  however,  we  found  a  German  woman 
and  a  small  child  already  established  there. 

As  we  were  to  be  aroused  about  four  in  the  morn 
ing,  we  did  not  relish  the  idea  of  being  kept  awake 
by  a  fretful  youngster,  but  all  the  king's  horses  and 
all  the  king's  men,  plus  the  influence  of  an  American 
Ambassador,  couldn't  move  that  proprietor;  and 
when  we  learned  that  there  were  only  twenty  rooms 
in  the  hotel — eighty  beds — and  a  hundred  and  forty 
applicants  for  them,  we  accepted  our  marcies,  baby 
and  all,  very  meekly  and  gratefully. 

By  this  time  we  were  cold,  and  the  only  heat  in 
the  thin  building  was  in  the  kitchen.  The  little  bed 
rooms  opened  off  a  long,  draughty  corridor,  unpaint- 
ed  and  uncarpeted,  and  these,  with  the  combination- 
room  we  had  first  entered  and  the  dining-room, 
were  all  there  was  of  the  hotel. 

Mrs.  Yale  suggested  tea,  which  we  hailed  with  a 
joy  more  or  less  tempered  by  doubt  as  to  the  cheer- 

194 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

ing  qualities  of  any  brew  obtainable  there.  Then 
it  was  that  the  lunch-baskets  first  came  into  play. 
She  produced  a  spirit-lamp,  a  teapot,  a  big  bottle 
of  alcohol  and  a  box  of  her  own  delicious  tea,  and 
we  sat  around  on  the  four  beds  and  watched  her 
make  it. 

We  had  adjourned  to  the  men's  room,  as  belong 
ing  more  exclusively  to  our  own  party,  Mr.  Yale's 
friend  having  been  adopted  on  sight.  Otherwise,  it 
was  just  like  all  the  other  rooms,  having  four  single 
beds,  one  in  each  corner;  two  washstands,  each  sur 
mounted  by  an  infinitesimal  but  shockingly  intoxi 
cated  mirror;  and  opposite  the  door,  beneath  the 
one  window,  a  stand  holding  the  tiny  candle  that 
threw  its  beams — and  our  Brobdingnagian  shadows 
— on  the  clean  pine  walls.  There  were  also  twelve 
hooks,  three  for  each  inhabitant,  and  one  chair. 
Hence,  we  sat  on  the  beds,  while  Mrs.  Yale,  en 
throned,  made  tea,  and  Ned  departed  on  a  foraging 
expedition. 

From  tea  it  was  an  easy  step  to  sandwiches;  then 
cold  chicken  tempted  us ;  and  when  My  Lady  Bounti 
ful  produced  two  or  three  bottles  of  champagne,  we 
declared  it  a  dinner-party  at  once,  the  more  readily 
that  we  were  beginning  to  realize  what  dining  with 
that  ravening  horde  outside  would  mean.  Occa 
sionally  we  sallied  forth  in  couples  for  a  look  at 
them,  pacing  up  and  down  the  cold  corridor,  muffled 
to  the  eyes  and  walking  to  keep  warm.  Already 
some  of  them  began  to  show,  in  their  drawn  and 
haggard  faces,  symptoms  of  the  dread  siroche. 

So  we  sat  on  the  beds  and  made  jokes,  a  sand- 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

wich  or  a  drum-stick  in  one  hand  and  a  glass  of 
champagne  in  the  other — and  never  was  wine  so 
perfectly  chilled  as  this,  that  ice  had  never  touched ! 
Ned's  frequent  forays  furnished  the  suspensive  in 
terest,  and  resulted  in  two  extra  chairs,  a  lamp — 
which  made  us  feel  very  luxuriously,  riotously  gay, 
almost  devilish,  in  fact — and  a  large  plate  of  bread. 
He  refused  to  tell  where  he  got  that. 

We  were  all  very  hungry,  and  there  was  nothing 
to  do  but  eat,  so  we  kept  on,  with  intervals  of  con 
versation  which  seemed  at  the  moment  very  bril 
liant.  I  was  taken  to  the  door  of  the  dining-room 
to  see  what  we  had  escaped,  and  I  went  straight  back 
to  the  bedroom  and  embraced  Mrs.  Yale. 

After  a  while  we  all  went  to  bed.  I  put  on  two 
suits  of  woollen  underwear,  some  long  cashmere 
stockings,  spread  a  steamer  rug  over  my  blanket 
and  was  very  comfortable,  but  I  didn't  sleep  much, 
though  the  child,  who  was  a  flaxen  -  haired  angel, 
never  peeped. 

What  became  of  all  the  sixty  people  for  whom 
there  were  no  beds  I  don't  know,  but  cocoons  of 
rugs,  furs  and  blankets,  each  of  them  containing 
somewhere  in  its  interior  a  human  being,  lay  thick 
along  the  floor  of  that  draughty  corridor  all  night. 
I  hope  some  of  the  people  had  at  least  a  table  to 
lie  on. 

It  is  only  at  the  end  of  the  season,  when  every 
body  who  has  business  on  the  other  side  hastens  to 
take  advantage  of  the  last  days  when  the  Pass  is 
open,  that  so  many  people  cross.  At  other  times 
the  little  inn  is  large  enough. 

196 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

At  four  in  the  morning,  just  as  I  was  getting  nice 
and  drowsy,  a  gong  that  would  have  waked  the 
seven  sleepers  went  off,  and  everybody  who  was 
going  with  the  combination,  as  this  tri- weekly  ex 
pedition  across  the  Cordillera  is  called,  got  up  and 
began  to  chatter. 

I  was  more  deliberate,  and  got  out  just  in  time 
to  see  the  last  mummies  gallop  off  on  mules,  the 
stages  having  already  departed.  Mr.  Yale  had 
gone  with  them,  and  Berenice  and  I  devoted  our 
selves  to  trying  to  cheer  up  his  forlorn  little  wife, 
while  we  all  sat  beside  an  open  door  in  the  bar-room 
— or  the  parlor,  if  you  prefer — and  blew  on  our 
fingers. 

Presently  the  proprietor  came  along  and  invited 
us  into  a  small  inner  room,  where  there  was — price 
less  treasure ! — an  oil-stove.  Even  Berenice  forgot  to 
say  that  it  was  crude.  She  just  pulled  up  a  chair  and 
hugged  it  like  the  rest  of  us.  It  was  after  eight  when 
the  men  appeared,  Ned  declaring  that  he  slept  all 
night  beside  an  open  window  and  woke  in  a  snowdrift. 

They  gave  us  a  very  good  breakfast,  but,  of  course, 
Uncle  Beverley  chose  that  particular  occasion  for 
riding  his  hobby,  having  been  reminded  of  camp 
hardships  by  the  experiences  of  the  night,  and  as 
the  others  evidently  thought  it  was  high  time  for 
grim-visaged  War  to  smooth  out  his  wrinkled  front, 
I  immolated  myself  and  drew  his  fire,  while  they 
talked  of  "shoes  and  ships  and  sealing  wax"  and 
similarly  fascinating  things.  Oh,  why  should  the 
spirit  of  mortal  be  proud  when  it  is  possible  for 
good  men  to  be  such  bores? 

197 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

After  breakfast,  Ned  conceived  the  brilliant  idea 
that  it  would  be  fun  to  get  some  mules  and  ride  up 
the  road  to  meet  the  incoming  combination,  and 
although  at  first  there  were  no  mules  left — posi- 
tively,  not  one  mule — eventually  four  materialized, 
with  two  more  for  the  guides.  Mrs.  Yale  declared 
that  nothing  would  tempt  her  to  undertake  such 
a  jaunt,  and  that  she  would  stay  at  the  hotel,  meet 
ing  us  at  the  train  with  the  luggage  and  lunch- 
baskets  if  we  were  late  in  returning. 

Then  comes  the  part  that  I  can  never  tell  you 
about,  riding  up  that  winding  road,  where  tremen 
dous  boulders  lay  like  golf  balls  tossed  aside,  and 
where  the  steep,  dark  bases,  rising  sheer  from  thin 
valleys,  gave  hint  of  what  the  summits  up  above  the 
clouds  must  be.  No  green  Alpine  slopes  here,  al 
though  there  is  wonderful,  wonderful  color — min 
eral,  I  suppose — in  the  precipitous  and  rocky  walls. 

Every  now  and  then  speech  fell  from  us  as  we 
caught  awesome  glimpses  of  some  stern  and  lofty 
peak,  upon  which  the  clouds  broke,  shattered,  and 
gathered  again  while  we  watched  it. 

We  met  the  incoming  combination  before  we  had 
gone  very  far.  First  came  the  mail,  strapped  to 
the  backs  of  twenty  or  thirty  mules,  in  charge  of 
sinister-looking  bandits  in  flowing  ponchos  and 
slouched  hats.  Mrs.  Yale  tells  me  that  when  the 
Pass  is  closed  to  men,  and  even  the  guides  dare  not 
cross  it,  they  sometimes  send  the  mules  out  alone 
with  the  mail,  and  the  wise  little  beasts  follow  the 
road  unless  an  avalanche  sweeps  them  down,  beating 
their  way  against  the  storms  to  Las  Cuevas  and  food. 

198 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Then,  after  quite  an  interval,  came  the  string  of 
baggage  mules,  zigzagging  down  the  steep  moun 
tain-side  for  all  the  world  as  you  have  seen  them 
in  some  big  stage  spectacle,  except  that  these  came 
on  the  run,  with  bags  and  boxes  and  bundles  and 
suit-cases  and  little  trunks  packed  upon  them,  and 
it  was  well  to  keep  away  from  that  drove.  Ned 
got  too  close  and  nearly  had  his  knee-cap  taken  off 
by  the  corner  of  a  trunk. 

Then  came  the  stages — and  thank  you,  when  I 
have  occasion  to  cross  the  Pass,  as  I  still  hope  to 
do  sometime,  I  will  ride  a  mule!  The  vehicles  are 
the  same  light,  high-swung,  uncomfortable,  side- 
seated,  yellow  affairs  that  took  us  from  the  station 
to  the  inn,  and  I  know  now  why  they  are  so  small. 
If  people  were  not  wedged  tight,  they'd  never  be 
able  to  stay  in,  particularly  if  they  happened  to 
have  siroche.  These  "coaches"  are  not  enclosed 
in  glass,  and  though  the  canvas  curtains  were  pulled 
tight,  must  have  been  very  cold.  All  the  people 
we  could  see  were  muffled  to  the  eyes  in  furs  and 
clumsy  woollens ;  many  had  their  heads  tied  up,  as 
one  of  the  best  preventives  of  siroche  is  to  keep 
warm,  and  all  seemed  half  frozen,  indifferent  alike 
to  their  own  fate  or  ours. 

The  little  stages  are  drawn  by  four  horses  har 
nessed  abreast  and  driven  —  very  skilfully,  by  the 
way  —  down  these  steep  grades  at  a  mad  gallop. 
The  road  is  full  of  very  sharp  turns — the  oblique 
angles  of  the  zigzag  —  and  sometimes  as  the  team 
reaches  one  of  these,  it  is  taken  in  a  dexterous 
swing.  But  sometimes  the  pace  is  too  fast,  or  the 

199 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

grade  not  exactly  calculated;  then  the  little  horse 
on  the  outside  plants  his  feet  against  a  low,  loose, 
stone  wall,  which  is  all  that  separates  him  from 
eternity — once,  while  I  watched,  they  were  going 
so  fast  that  he  half  climbed  it — and  throws  his 
whole  weight  in.  His  companions  carom  back 
toward  this  world,  dragging  him  with  them,  and  they 
all  tear  on  a  few  yards,  to  repeat  the  performance  at 
the  next  sharp  point  in  the  road. 

Since  to  stop  one  of  these  stages  in  mid-career  is 
impossible,  and  a  collision  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice 
would  be — well — final,  we  had  to  exercise  the  great 
est  care  to  keep  on  the  inside  of  the  road  at  these 
sharp  turns — not  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world,  by 
the  way,  as  any  self-respecting  mule  has  a  mind 
of  his  own,  and  ours  were  particularly  opinionated. 

After  the  stages  came  the  police,  guarding  the 
combination  in  this  dangerous  border  neighborhood, 
and  I  dare  say  they  are  worthy  and  efficient  officers; 
but  in  that  remote  and  desolate  spot,  rifles  slung 
over  their  shoulders,  and  only  their  gleaming,  glanc 
ing,  dark  eyes  visible  between  their  enwrapping 
ponchos  and  their  slouched  hats,  they  did  not  pre 
sent  a  reassuring  asoect  to  the  wayfarer  from  the 
north. 

Then  we  should  have  turned  back;  but  the  wind 
ing  road  and  the  heights  beyond  beckoned,  we  felt 
that  we  had  had  only  a  glimpse,  the  guide — we  had 
only  one  now,  as  the  other  had  dropped  away,  for 
no  reason  that  we  knew — was  most  desirous  that 
we  proceed  to  Lake  Portillo,  and  after  some  dis 
cussion,  we  decided  to  go  at  least  a  little  farther. 

200 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Of  course,  that  meant  that  we  went  to  the  lake,  a 
limpid  moonstone  set  among  those  solemn  peaks 
and  grayly  reflecting  their  grandeur. 

To  do  this,  however,  we  had  to  ride  fast,  and  I 
noticed  that  my  breath  was  coming  short,  but  as  it 
is  fifteen  years  or  more  since  I  mounted  any  kind 
of  a  four-footed  beast,  and  as  my  mule  rejoiced  in  a 
particularly  racking  trot,  I  attributed  my  breath- 
lessness  to  that,  and  at  Portillo  dismounted  and 
confidently  attempted  to  cross  some  rocks  and 
rough  ground  in  order  to  photograph  the  lake. 
Result,  after  I  had  fallen  down  four  times,  and  Ned, 
who  was  with  me,  had  begun  talking  to  me  in  the 
tone  men  keep  for  fractious  horses  and  hysterical 
women,  I  realized  that  the  altitude  was  too  much 
for  me,  and  collapsed  on  a  rock,  gasping  like  a  fish 
out  of  water. 

Ned  called  Uncle  Beverley,  and  the  two  of  them 
got  me  back  to  the  mules,  where  I  sat  down  in  the 
road  and  gasped  some  more.  Eventually,  as  our  time 
was  getting  short,  I  said  I  was  all  right,  they  lifted  me 
back  into  the  saddle,  and  we  started  down  to  Juncal. 

Then  came  the  test  of  endurance!  It  was  snow 
ing  again,  we  rode  into  a  keen,  cold  wind,  and  that 
infamous  beast  of  mine  refused  to  gallop.  The 
others  had  all  they  could  do  to  manage  their  own 
animals,  who  imperturbably  took  their  ain  gait  and 
submitted  to  an  incredible  amount  of  kicking  with 
out  resentment,  and  so  I  was  left  more  or  less  to 
my  own  devices — nobody  realizing  how  ill  I  really 
was — and  to  the  guide,  who  always  kept  behind  to 
whip  up  the  stragglers. 

201 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

That  mule  trotted  my  hat  off  and  my  hair  down 
and  all  the  breath  out  of  my  body.  I  left  my  side- 
combs  and  my  back-comb  and  all  but  three  of  my 
hair-pins  along  that  Andean  trail — it's  a  mercy 
my  hair  is  deeply  rooted,  or  I'd  have  left  that! — 
and  when  I  did  succeed  in  pulling  the  critter  in, 
every  breath  an  agony,  the  guide  larrupped  him 
from  behind  and  started  him  off  on  his  trot  again. 

Finally  I  made  a  desperate  effort,  got  within  call 
ing  distance  of  the  rest,  and  made  them  hold  my 
reins  and  my  hat  and  restrain  the  guide,  while  I 
did  what  I  could  to  fasten  up  my  hair  with  my  three 
remaining  pins,  and  tied  my  veil  tightly  over  it. 
Ned  carried  my  hat  in  his  hand  the  rest  of  the  way 
down.  When  I  pass  this  way  again,  I  come  wear 
ing  a  divided  skirt,  my  hair  braided  down  my  back, 
and  riding  a  man's  saddle. 

While  this  was  going  on,  a  party  of  villainous- 
looking  natives  passed  us  on  foot,  crowded  near, 
leered  insolently,  and  said  something  in  Spanish 
which  angered  Ned  and  frightened  the  guide,  who 
turned  very  pale.  Ned  slipped  his  hand  back  to 
his  hip  pocket  and  swung  his  mule  around  facing 
them,  and  they  walked  on  without  molesting  us. 

As  we  started  again,  I  heard  Ned  ask  Mr.  Ames 
whether  he  was  armed,  and  then  he  exclaimed: 

"  Neither  am  I!  I  was  a  fool  not  to  bring  a  gun! 
Let's  get  the  ladies  down  as  fast  as  we  can.  I  don't 
like  this." 

After  that  he  kept  well  ahead,  and  we  pressed  on 
rapidly,  and  for  me  very  painfully.  Once  I  looked 
down  to  the  zigzagging  road  below,  which  we  should 

202 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

presently  traverse,  and  hiding  under  a  jutting  point 
of  rock  close  against  the  hillside  were  three  poncho- 
muffled  horsemen  whom  we  had  passed  coming  up, 
and  who,  I  now  remembered,  had  eyed  us  rather 
curiously.  They  were  doing  nothing,  apparently. 
Simply  sitting  their  horses — and  possibly  waiting. 
I  signalled  to  Ned  to  look  at  them,  and  he  nodded. 
He  had  already  seen  them. 

Just  before  we  came  to  the  point  behind  which 
these  gentry  were  hidden,  Ned  suddenly  took  a 
short  cut  down  the  steep,  shaley  mountain-side, 
cutting  off  the  next  angle  of  the  zigzag,  and  in 
spite  of  the  warning  shouts  of  the  guide,  I  followed, 
happening  at  the  moment  to  be  next  in  line.  Uncle 
Beverley  would  have  obeyed  the  guide  and  kept  to 
the  road,  but  Ned's  imperious  summons  admitted 
no  argument  and  the  rest  came  along  behind  us.  So, 
after  all,  we  never  passed  those  gentlemen  sitting 
there  by  the  roadside  so  quietly  in  a  driving  storm. 

Twice  again  Ned  left  the  road  and  led  us  down  a 
short  cut,  and  each  time  I  noticed  that  some  one 
was  coming  around  the  point  of  the  zigzag  between 
where  we  left  the  road  and  where  we  took  it  again. 

Meanwhile,  my  mule  trotted  and  occasionally 
stumbled,  and  I  shall  never  know  why  I  didn't  go 
over  his  head,  for  the  saddle  had  no  safety-horn  for 
the  left  knee,  and  I  was  faint  by  this  time.  Every 
breath  came  hard,  my  whole  body  ached  and  the 
wind  drove  the  snow  into  my  face  like  needles. 
But  every  now  and  then  the  clouds  lightened  a  little 
and  I  saw  one  of  those  tremendous  visions  in  which 
the  Andes  were  revealed  to  us  that  day.  Then  I  for- 

203 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

got  that  I  was  human,  forgot  the  pain,  the  cold,  the 
suffocation,  the  pounding  heart,  and  went  straight 
up  to  those  supernal  heights. 

We  had  just  barely  time  to  make  the  train,  and 
when  we  got  to  the  station,  Berenice  and  I  had  to 
be  lifted  off  our  mules,  and  I,  at  least,  clumped  into 
the  car  absolutely  numb  to  the  waist  with  cold. 
They  gave  us  whiskey  to  warm  us  up,  and  sand 
wiches — and  then  a  wave  of  siroche  swept  over  me, 
a  sensation  as  much  worse  than  seasickness  as  sea 
sickness  is  worse  than  ordinary  headache,  and  I  re 
tired  into  myself  for  a  while.  Such  aching,  bitter, 
blood-congealing  cold  I  have  never  felt,  and  yet 
I  had  rugs  and  furs  and  all  sorts  of  things  piled 
over  me. 

However,  by  the  time  we  got  down  to  Los  Andes 
I  was  ready  for  tea,  and  before  we  reached  Llai-Llai 
I  demolished  rather  more  than  my  share  of  what 
Mrs.  Yale  called  "the  property  chicken,"  her  lunch- 
baskets  being  apparently  inexhaustible. 

So  to-day,  though  I  gasp  like  a  fish  whenever  I 
lie  down,  though  I  am  sick  and  sore  and  inex 
pressibly  weary,  though  every  time  I  drop  anything 
on  the  floor  I  have  to  ring  for  a  boy  to  pick  it  up, 
it  is  nothing  and  less  than  nothing,  for  yesterday  I 
saw  the  Cordillera! 

Berenice,  accustomed  to  riding,  suffers  no  pangs 
from  the  experience,  although  of  course  she  is  tired ; 
but  neither,  I  fear,  does  she  know  this  exaltation. 
Her  enjoyment  of  the  trip  seemed  to  be  the  pleasure 
of  any  healthy  young  thing  in  physical  exercise  and 
battle  with  the  elements.  Uncle  Beverley  was  in^ 

204 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

t crested,  and  as  much  impressed,  probably,  as  it  is 
possible  for  him  to  be  by  anything  outside  of  him 
self.  But  it  was  only  Ned  and  I  who  lost  the 
power  of  speech  in  those  moments  of  supreme 
revelation. 

Except  for  such  impersonal  moments  of  common 
response,  we  held  little  communion  together.  Of 
course,  we  all  had  a  jolly  time,  but  when  it  came  to 
seats  in  the  train,  or  any  other  opportunity  for  quiet 
conversation,  however  we  started,  I  generally  found 
myself  in  the  end  listening  to  Uncle  Beverley,  while 
Ned  devoted  himself  to  Mrs.  Yale  and  Berenice. 

I  suppose  Mr.  Ames,  kind  and  good  though  he  is, 
bores  them  all  to  the  point  of  extinction — and  they 
seem  to  think  I  like  it.  Well — perhaps  that  is  not 
altogether  to  be  regretted.  I  am  trying  to  make 
myself  agreeable — but  not  too  agreeable! — to  Uncle 
Beverley,  and  evidently  I  am  playing  my  part  bet 
ter  than — 

*  *  * 

Oh,  Marion,  the  gobble'uns  have  got  me  at  last! 

I  was  interrupted  there  by  a  polite  but  unmis 
takable  ruction  in  the  next  room,  since  which  we've 
had  wars  and  rumors  of  wars. 

Gaveston  has  proposed  to  Berenice,  who  seems 
inclined  to  accept  him  and  swears  she  will  brook 
dictation  from  nobody — Uncle  Beverley  has  demon 
strated  his  Ames  blood,  if  he  never  did  before — I 
am  in  disgrace  with  him — and  I  suppose  he  has  gone 
off  to  feed  himself  to  the  Bandersnatch,  but  I  can't 
help  it.  I  have  hands  and  heart  and  brain  too  full 
just  now  to  fuss  about  him. 

205 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

I'll  write  details  later.  This  must  go  at  once  or 
miss  the  mail. 

Santiago,  April  24th. 

Oh,  my  dear,  such  scenes!  And  the  end  is  not 
yet.  Thus  far,  I've  won,  but  I  am  so  utterly  ex 
hausted  from  the  struggle  and  the  outcome  is  still 
so  dubious  that  I  am  in  no  mood  to  flap  my  wings 
and  crow. 

Yesterday,  as  I  wrote  you,  we  were  all  rather  tired 
and  disinclined  to  exercise.  In  fact,  I  was  so  bat 
tered  and  lame  that  I  didn't  even  go  to  the  dining- 
room  for  almuerza  with  the  others,  but  had  it  served 
in  my  room.  After  breakfast,  Uncle  Beverley  re 
turned  with  Berenice  to  our  little  sala,  and  as  I  had 
on  a  tea-gown — and  was  in  no  mood  for  his  particular 
variety  of  uninspired  prose  anyway — I  escaped  to 
my  own  room  and  closed  the  door.  Presently,  Bere 
nice  put  her  head  in  to  say  that  Mr.  Ames  had  gone 
to  take  a  siesta,  and  that  she  thought  she'd  have  a 
nap  herself. 

It  was  perhaps  an  hour  later,  while  I  was  writing 
to  you,  that  I  heard  low  voices  in  the  sala  again, 
and  just  as  I  was  going  to  investigate,  Berenice 
came  in  to  ask  whether  I  had  finished  with  a  book 
Uncle  Beverley  had  loaned  me  a  few  days  before. 
I  supposed  he  had  called  for  it,  as  I  knew  he  had 
not  yet  read  it  himself,  so  I  gave  it  to  her,  with  a 
message  of  thanks  for  him,  and  she  departed,  clos 
ing  the  door  after  her. 

Therefore,  when  I  occasionally  heard  the  murmur 

206 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

of  voices,  I  naturally  inferred  that  Uncle  Beverley 
found  himself  more  weary  than  he  had  admitted 
and  was  spending  the  afternoon  reading  and  rest 
ing — the  more  so  that  the  conversation,  after  the 
first  few  minutes,  seemed  intermittent,  though,  to 
be  sure,  my  window  was  open  a  little  and  there  was 
more  or  less  noise  from  passing  cabs  and  wagons. 

I  suppose  I  was  careless  and  too  absorbed  in  my 
letter  to  you  to  be  very  observant.  Anyway,  after 
an  hour  or  more  of  this,  I  heard  a  brisk  step  in  the 
corridor  and  a  tap  at  the  door  of  the  sala — followed 
by  Uncle  Beverley's  voice  in  unmistakably  wrath 
ful  inquiry.  Of  course,  I  listened.  He  was  demand 
ing  an  explanation  of  somebody,  and  Gaveston — 
Gaveston — replied : 

"I  have  just  asked  Miss  Ames  to  marry  me." 

All  the  Ames  in  Uncle  Beverley  came  to  the  sur 
face  on  the  instant  and  he  proceeded  to  unlimber 
his  heavy  guns.  First  he  tactfully  ordered  Berenice 
to  leave  the  room,  which  she  flatly  refused  to  do. 
Then  he  turned  his  artillery  on  his  English  friend. 

What  was  Mr.  Gaveston's  code,  sir?  Did  not 
Mr.  Gaveston  perceive  that  he  had  committed  the 
gravest  breach  of  confidence  ?  Did  not  Mr.  Gaveston 
realize  that  as  a  total  stranger  and  a  foreigner,  it 
was  essential  that  he  should  present  satisfactory 
credentials  to  the  young  lady's  father  before  making 
the  slightest  attempt  to  win  her  affection?  What 
explanation  of  this  impossible  situation  could  Uncle 
Beverley,  as  her  temporary  guardian,  offer  to  her 
parents  ?  How  had  this  thing  been  possible  ?  Where 
were  Mr.  Gaveston's  perceptions?  Where  were  Mr. 
14  207 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Gaveston's  principles?    Above  all,  where  was  Mrs. 
Pomeroy  ? 

That  seemed  to  be  my  cue,  so  I  opened  the  door. 
Berenice  and  Gaveston  stood  close  together  on  the 
left,  arrayed  as  one  and  brazenly  defying  Family 
Authority,  personified  by  Uncle  Beverley,  puffing 
fire  on  the  right.  I  felt  instantly  that  both  forces 
were  hostile  to  me,  s»  I  kept  my  own  ground,  took 
the  dilemma  by  the  horns,  and  myself  demanded 
an  explanation  before  Uncle  Beverley  recovered  his 
equilibrium  and  his  breath  after  my  sudden  appear 
ance.  He  evidently  thought  I  had  gone  out. 

Then  I  learned  that  he  had  entered  the  sala 
abruptly,  and  had  found  Gaveston  sitting  beside 
Berenice  on  the  sofa,  holding  both  her  hands  and 
obviously  making  ardent  love  to  her.  And  /  was 
called  upon  for  an  explanation  of  that! 

The  one  I  gave  proved  entirely  inadequate.  It 
seems  that  I  had  no  ground  whatever  for  supposing 
that  Mr.  Ames  had  asked  for  the  book,  since  Bere 
nice  did  not  definitely  say  that  he  had,  and  since  I 
should  have  known  that  he  would  never  do  so  tact 
less  and  ill-bred  a  thing  as  to  request  any  woman 
to  return  anything  he  had  loaned  her.  Moreover, 
he  had  understood  from  his  brother's  wife  that  my 
office  in  this  expedition  was  to  "enforce  the  ob 
servance  of  the  proprieties  at  all  times." 

I  don't  think  he  knew  himself  just  what  he  meant 
by  that,  for  he  certainly  couldn't  have  intended  to 
imply  that  I  should  not  permit  Berenice  to  spend 
an  afternoon  alone  with  him,  which  is  what  I  sup 
posed  she  was  doing. 

208 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Anyway,  Uncle  Beverley  was  angry — and  knew 
he  was  guilty — and  was  thoroughly  scared — and 
being  a  loyal  son  of  Adam,  of  course  he  said  it  was 
all  my  fault,  which  amused  even  while  it  exas 
perated  me.  I  don't  see  why  the  old  Israelites 
should  have  felt  the  need  of  scapegoats  when  they 
had  womenfolk.  Some  of  them  had  so  many  wives, 
too !  They  must  have  been  a  bad  lot  to  need  goats 
as  well. 

When  Berenice  was  asked  why  she  had  applied 
to  me  for  the  book,  she  replied  that  she  wanted  to 
show  it  to  Mr.  Gaveston,  and  she  further  sweetly 
explained  that  she  had  not  thought  it  necessary  to 
mention  Mr.  Gaveston's  presence,  as  he  was  in  the 
next  room  and  I  must  have  learned  to  know  his 
voice  by  this  time.  When  I  failed  to  join  them,  she 
said,  she  knew  I  must  be  far  too  tired  and  ill  to 
see  any  one,  for  I  had  always  before  been  unwilling 
to  miss  a  syllable  of  Mr.  Gaveston's  conversation  ( ! ) , 
and  she  had  naturally  refrained  from  urging  me 
under  these  circumstances. 

Touching — sweetly  touching — wasn't  it?  Who 
was  the  literary  gentleman  who  lamented  in  print 
a  year  or  two  ago  that  our  written  romances  are  so 
sophisticated  nowadays,  and  pleaded  for  a  return 
of  the  old,  tender  tales  of  ingenuous  youth  and  art 
less  early  love  ?  I  would  like  to  call  to  his  attention 
this  example  of  the  modern,  guileless  young  person. 

However,  it  was  given  to  me  in  that  moment  to 
perceive  one  thing  clearly,  which  was  that  here  lay 
my  last  and  only  chance  of  being  able  to  help  that 
child.  She  was  armed  and  panoplied  to  meet  op- 

209 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

position,  but  sympathy  might  find  her  unprepared. 
If  I  should  stand  with  her  now,  against  her  uncle, 
against  her  family,  even  against  my  own  conviction 
in  the  present  crisis,  she  might  let  me  into  her  heart 
and  trust  me  enough  so  that  later  I  could  defend  her 
against  herself  a  little. 

Of  course,  it  was  a  risk.  If  I  lost,  I  lost  all.  I 
wonder  whether  anybody  else  in  the  world  is  so 
often  called  upon  to  choose  between  the  frying-pan 
and  the  fire?  Anyway,  like  Alice  in  Looking-Glass 
Land,  in  order  to  reach  my  goal  I  walked  straight 
away  from  it — and  I  seem  to  be  approaching  it.  I 
dare  not  be  very  confident  yet,  but  truly,  I  seem 
almost  to  have  reached  it. 

Meanwhile,  Gaveston  was  taking  a  hand.  He 
said  that  he  realized  perfectly  that  he  had  done  an 
unconventional  thing — a  thing  that  he  would  never 
have  ventured  to  do  had  he  been  less  certain  of  his 
eligibility  from  a  worldly  point  of  view,  and  one  for 
which  he  admitted  he  owed  Miss  Ames'  family  an 
explanation.  He  said  he  had  not  meant  to  be  so 
precipitate — did  you  ever  hear  of  a  precipitate 
spider? — having  intended  waiting  until  Berenice 
was  at  home  in  New  York,  but  that  in  her  weariness 
that  afternoon  she  had  appealed  very  strongly  to 
his  "deepest  and  tenderest  emotions,"  and  he  had 
spoken  almost  before  he  knew  it. 

He  is  an  artful  Jabberwock  and  he  played  his  part 
well,  but  he  failed  to  impress  Uncle  Beverley,  who 
retorted  that  while  all  this  might  be  true,  a  gentle 
man  generally  held  his  emotions  subject  to  his 
honor,  whereupon  Gaveston  straightened  his  shoul- 

210 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

ders,  gave  back  glare  for  glare,  and  icily  informed 
Mr.  Ames  that  he  would  satisfy  Miss  Ames'  parents 
perfectly  as  to  his  social  position,  personal  integrity, 
and  ability  to  care  for  their  daughter.  He  further 
intimated  that  it  might  not  be  so  easy  to  reconcile 
his  own  people  to  what,  at  first  glance,  would  in 
evitably  appear  to  them  a  mesalliance,  but  that  they 
would  recognize,  as  he  had,  Berenice's  fitness  for  a 
position  which  she  had  never  enjoyed  and  which  he 
could  give  her. 

Thoroughly  infuriated  by  this  time,  Uncle  Bever- 
ley  announced  in  effect,  but  in  elegant  and  chiselled 
phrases,  that  he  wouldn't  have  it  at  all.  Berenice 
had  been  intrusted  to  him  for  safe-keeping,  and  it 
was  his  purpose — here  he  glared  at  me — to  return 
her  intact.  She  was  informed,  in  addition,  that  her 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Gaveston  was  at  an  end 
and  that  she  should  in  future  neither  receive  nor 
recognize  him. 

She  put  her  chin  in  the  air  and  said  she  would  do 
exactly  as  seemed  best  to  her  about  that,  and  that 
if  her  uncle  objected  so  violently  to  Mr.  Gaveston, 
he  should  have  said  so  before,  as  it  was  too  late  now 
— in  which  I  firmly  backed  her  up.  She  said  that 
Mr.  Gaveston  had  asked  her  to  marry  him,  and  while 
she  had  not  yet  given  him  an  answer,  she  would  give 
it — very  quickly — in  the  affirmative,  if  she  was 
"subjected  to  further  persecution"  by  any  member 
of  her  family. 

Uncle  Beverley,  almost  choking  with  rage  but 
still  preserving  the  rigidity  of  his  demeanor,  in 
formed  her  that  she  was  in  effect  his  ward,  and  she 

211 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

flung  back  the  reminder  that  she  would  be  legally 
of  age  within  a  few  weeks,  mistress  of  herself  and 
of  her  fortune,  and  that  unless  he  behaved  very 
prettily  indeed,  she  wouldn't  even  go  home  to  be 
married,  but  would  become  Mrs.  Gaveston  down 
here  somewhere  and  let  him  make  the  necessary 
explanations  to  the  family  at  his  leisure — in  which 
my  sympathy  was  far  from  wholly  feigned.  At  her 
age,  I  would  have  declared  my  intention  of  marrying 
Caliban  himself,  had  I  been  subjected  to  the  Ames 
variety  of  discipline.  No  wonder  she  tried  to  run 
away  and  marry  Perry  Waite!  Poor  child! 

She  also  made  Uncle  sit  up  when  she  informed  him 
that  he  certainly  couldn't  expect  her  to  respect  a 
judgment  which  discriminated  against  Mr.  Gaves 
ton  and  accepted  "that  Mrs.  Rankin,"  adding,  by 
way  of  a  knot  in  the  lash,  that  never  before  in  her 
life  had  she  been  "forced  to  associate  with  that 
sort  of  person."  I  think  it  was  more  or  less  a  ran 
dom  stroke,  but  it  touched  a  tender  spot,  and  Uncle 
Beverley  gasped  and  sputtered  a  little  before  he  got 
himself  in  hand  again. 

Naturally,  I  kept  out  of  that  particular  fracas, 
but  otherwise  I  fought  by  her  side,  and  she  was 
utterly  bewildered  by  my  championship.  It  seemed 
to  unsettle  her  convictions,  as  I  had  hoped  it 
might,  and  at  first  she  was  suspicious  and  scornful. 
But  when  I  had  openly  and  energetically  defied 
Uncle  Beverley  and  the  whole  Ames  connection, 
and  had  insisted  upon  her  right  to  live  her  life  as 
her  own  spirit  demanded,  she  realized  that  I  meant 
what  I  said — and  I  did,  too! — and  from  that  mo- 

212 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

ment  she  has  clung  to  me  pathetically,  though  I 
have  had  to  be  very  careful  not  to  frighten  her  away. 

Gaveston  was  clever  enough  to  see  at  once  that 
my  sudden  change  of  base  probably  boded  no  good 
for  him,  and  I  made  no  pretence  that  it  did,  though, 
of  course,  I  said  nothing  to  antagonize  him. 

Altogether,  it  was  something  of  a  scene  we  had, 
and  when  it  was  over,  Berenice  came  into  my  room 
and  into  my  arms,  and  cried — poor  woman-child, 
how  she  cried!  However,  I  knew  it  was  good  for 
her,  so  I  let  her  sob  it  out,  and  I  was  so  thankful 
that  she  came  to  me  at  last  that  I  didn't  much  care 
what  Uncle  Beverley  did  or  thought. 

She  knew  she  had  been  horrid  to  me,  she  said,  but 
that  was  when  she  thought  I  was  against  her,  like 
everybody  else,  and  over  and  over  she  begged  my 
forgiveness.  She  said  she  didn't  know  what  her 
family  expected  of  her.  She  supposed  they  would 
select  some  rich,  stupid,  elderly  friend  of  her  father's 
— somebody  they  had  known  all  about  since  the 
year  one — and  try  to  make  her  marry  him,  but  she 
never  would!  They  didn't  care  anything  about 
her  heart,  but  she  would  show  them  that  she  had 
a  mind  of  her  own,  anyway!  She'd  marry  Mr. 
Gaveston  just  as  soon  as  she  got  home,  and  put  the 
width  of  the  world  between  herself  and  the  rest  of 
her  family.  I  asked  if  she  would  like  to  be  that 
far  from  her  mother,  whereat  she  wept  wildly  again, 
but  insisted  that  her  mother  thought  she  ought  to 
submit  absolutely  to  her  father  and  let  him  dictate 
every  detail  of  her  life.  Is  anybody  so  misunder 
stood  as  mothers?  Poor,  loyal,  love-torn  souls! 

213 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

I  tried  to  explain  a  little  of  what  it  means  to  be 
at  once  a  wife  and  a  mother,  and  then  slipped  on  to 
soft  talk  about  loyalty  and  its  ideals,  and  finally 
about  love.  She  turned  upon  me  then,  very  white 
and  stern. 

"If  you  please,  we  won't  talk  about  love — ever," 
she  said.  "That,  at  least,  is  over.  I've  done  play 
ing  with  bubbles." 

So  I  didn't  talk  any  more  about  love — just  then, 
but  I  had  learned  what  I  wanted  to  know.  She  was 
attracted  to  Gaveston  because  of  what  he  could  give 
her,  not  because  of  what  she  thought  he  was. 

This  morning  I  had  a  very  formal  private  au 
dience  with  Uncle  Beverley.  That  is,  he  was  formal. 
I  told  him  in  plain  but  polite  language  what  I 
thought  of  his  treatment  of  Berenice,  and  why  I 
had  arrayed  myself  with  her  against  him.  I  also 
told  him  what  I  hoped  to  accomplish  thereby,  and 
that  my  opinion  of  Mr.  Gaveston  had  not  changed 
in  any  particular,  to  all  of  which  he  listened  rigidly. 

Then  he  informed  me  that  while  possibly  I  could 
reconcile  myself  to  my  own  conduct,  he  refused  to 
be  longer  responsible  for  an  unruly  girl  like  Berenice, 
under  the  circumstances — the  inference  being  that 
I  am  the  circumstances — and  that  he  had  that 
morning  cabled  to  her  father  that  she  and  I  would 
continue  directly  from  Valparaiso  to  Liverpool, 
where  it  should  be  arranged  for  some  one  to  meet 
us.  Sent  home,  if  you  please,  with  our  hands 
slapped ! 

I  inquired  whether  he  wasn't  afraid  I'd  marry  her 
off  on  the  way  over,  and  he  hoped  that  I  might  be 

214 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

granted  some  faint  perception,  by  that  time,  of 
the  gravity  of  my  position. 

I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  been  very  angry,  in 
stead  of  which  I  am  afraid  I  was  rude.  He  was 
puffy  with  dignity,  and  looked  so  exactly  like  a 
pompous  and  very  well  groomed  gray  frog,  and  his 
whole  attitude  in  the  matter  was  so  absurd,  any 
way,  that  it  tickled  my  funny  spot  all  at  once  and 
I  sat  down  and  laughed.  Of  course  I  was  hysterical, 
but  I  laughed  consumedly,  and  the  more  he  puffed 
and  sputtered  the  funnier  it  got.  Finally,  he  stalked 
off  in  high  dudgeon — and  then  I  came  to  my  room 
and  cried,  but  he'll  never  know  that! 

Now  I  must  brace  up  and  get  into  harness  again. 
I'll  finish  later — if  I  survive.  There  seems  a  lively 
prospect,  at  present,  that  we  may  repeat  the  re 
markable  experience  of  the  Kilkenny  cats. 


Valparaiso,  April  28th. 

Well,  here  we  are,  what  there  is  left  of  us!  But 
between  the  after  effects  of  siroche,  which  are  still 
with  me,  a  heavy  cold,  joints  stiff  with  rheumatism, 
the  fight  I  have  waged  for  Berenice,  society  dissipa 
tion  and  packing,  I  can  tell  you  there's  mighty  lit 
tle  left  of  me  but  my  pen  hand  and  a  wan  smile. 
This  is  absolutely  my  first  moment  of  even  com 
parative  leisure  since  I  wrote  last  Friday,  since 
which — well,  you  know  what  Sherman  said  war 
was! 

We  had  an  engagement  to  dine  somewhere  Fri- 
215 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

day  evening,  but  Berenice  and  I  were  both  undone, 
and  although  Mr.  Ames  protested  that  it  was  un 
pardonable,  we  sent  regrets  at  the  last  moment  and 
he  went  alone.  Gaveston  called,  and  Shafter 
Blakeney,  but  we  saw  neither  of  them.  We  sat  in 
my  room  in  our  bath -wrappers  and  talked — and 
talked. 

I  told  her  about  Clark  and  our  brief  romance, 
and  a  little  of  why  I  have  never  married  again, 
though  I  am  sure  he  would  wish  me  to.  I  told  her 
that  only  those  who  had  glimpsed  love  and  lost  it, 
and  who,  for  one  reason  or  another,  were  conscious 
ly  facing  life  without  it,  could  ever  fully  appreciate 
its  glory,  or  realize  the  sacrilege  of  tarnishing  its 
purity  by  so  much  as  a  breath. 

That  idea  appealed  to  her  at  once,  and  she  let  me 
talk  in  that  strain  as  long  as  I  cared  to,  while  there 
crept  into  her  manner  a  new  dignity,  as  of  a  woman 
ennobled  by  a  great  and  sorrowful  experience.  How 
quickly  and  naturally  and  unconsciously  youth 
adapts  itself  to  a  congenial  role!  I  was  careful  not 
to  allude  to  Perry  Waite.  I  assumed,  as  she  did, 
that  he  had  gone  forever  out  of  her  life — as  doubt 
less  he  has. 

But  thereafter  I  held  her  to  that  ideal  of  love. 
Sometimes  she  turned  cynical  and  sneered;  indeed, 
she  had  long  hours  of  backsliding,  particularly  after 
she  had  seen  Gaveston  and  been  tempted  by  the 
kingdoms  of  the  earth,  or  after  Uncle  Beverley  had 
been  doing  his  duty  as  he  saw  it.  But  I  thought  I 
had  found  the  keynote,  and  every  day  I  touched 
it — sometimes  only  by  assuming  that  she  and  I 

216 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

were  indissolubly  united  by  this  common  knowl 
edge  of  life's  loneliness  and  sorrow. 

She  is  young  and  romantically  morbid,  and  it  held 
her  in  the  balance.  Sometimes  she  swayed  toward 
Gaveston,  sometimes  toward  me,  and  we  both 
worked  breathlessly  and  without  ceasing — but  I 
had  the  advantage.  I  had  her  late  at  night,  and  in 
those  hours  when  I  sat  on  the  edge  of  her  bed, 
talking,  far  into  the  morning,  I  washed  out  much  of 
the  impression  that  he  had  made  during  the  day — 
for  I  no  longer  interposed  myself  between  them.  I 
knew  that  she  must  believe  that  he  had  his  chance. 

Sometimes,  during  these  midnight  talks,  she 
showed  me  little  bits  of  her  heart,  but  mostly  she 
just  cuddled  close  and  listened,  and  the  only  real 
reason  I  had  for  believing  I  was  holding  her  was 
that  she  was  never  willing  that  I  should  leave  her 
and  go  to  bed. 

Meanwhile,  we  had  made  a  lot  of  engagements 
for  those  last  days,  and  as  we  didn't  care  to  ad 
vertise  our  differences,  and  also  because  our  time 
with  these  delightful  new  friends  was  so  limited, 
we  kept  them  all — breakfasts,  teas,  dinners  nearly 
every  day,  and  sometimes  bridge  in  the  evening. 

Sunday  we  tried  to  do  some  packing,  but  some 
one  came  in  to  breakfast,  and  from  then  until  we 
went  to  Mrs.  Yale's  to  tea,  at  half-past  four,  we  had 
a  steady  stream  of  callers,  among  them  Don  Jose" 
Carter,  who  came  to  say  good-bye.  Again  we  tried 
to  take  him  to  Mrs.  Yale's  with  us,  but  he  could 
not  go. 

Gaveston  was  there,  however,  waiting  for  Bere- 
217 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

nice,  and  I  was  delighted  to  see  that  she  was  be 
ginning  to  think  a  little  for  herself,  for  when  he 
attempted  one  of  his  witty,  sneering  comments  on 
Chileans,  she  swooped  at  him  like  a  flame,  crying: 

"You  shall  not  say  that!  It  can't  be  true  of  a 
nation  that  has  produced  a  man  like  Don  Jose 
Carter!  They  are  his  people — he  knows  them  and 
he  believes  in  them — and  he  is  right!" 

That  was  hopeful — but  it  was  also  unfortunate, 
for  it  frightened  Gaveston,  and  he  proceeded  to 
woo  her  so  ardently  during  the  remainder  of  the 
afternoon  that  he  all  but  won  her,  and  Uncle  Bever- 
ley  completed  the  catastrophe  by  descanting  for 
half  an  hour  upon  the  sin  of  disobedience  in  the 
young. 

I  couldn't  get  near  her  that  night.  She  was  very 
sweet  to  me,  but  seemed  tired  and  depressed,  and 
when  I  tried  to  bring  her  up  into  key,  she  said, 
recklessly : 

"  Oh,  what's  the  use!  Since  nobody's  happy  any 
way,  one  might  as  well  take  what  offers!" 

Then  I  was  frightened,  but  she  refused  to  talk. 
She  said  her  head  ached,  and  would  I  mind  if  she 
tried  to  go  to  sleep  at  once? 

I  didn't  sleep  any,  nor,  by  her  appearance  next 
morning,  did  she.  Home  letters  came  with  our 
coffee,  and  while  we  were  still  reading  them,  she 
tossed  over  her  shoulder,  in  a  hard  tone  that  she 
tried  to  make  sound  careless: 

"Oh,  by-the-bye,  I  told  Mr.  Gaveston  that  he 
might  come  in  about  eleven.  I  hope  you  don't 
mind?" 

218 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

I  did  mind,  for  I  knew  from  her  face  that  he  was 
coming  for  his  answer  and  that  he  had  beaten  me. 
I  couldn't  speak  for  a  moment,  and  when  I  went 
behind  her  chair  and  touched  her  cheek,  she  drew 
away,  with  a  sharp  "Don't,  please!"  Of  course 
I  tried  to  get  her  talk,  but  she  wouldn't,  and  I  saw 
that  to  force  her  in  that  mood  would  be  to  undo 
everything. 

About  ten  Shafter  Blakeney's  card  came  in,  with 
a  pencilled  line:  "Please  see  me.  Important." 

Naturally,  I  had  him  in  at  once,  Berenice  retiring 
precipitately  to  her  room.  He  asked  for  her,  how 
ever,  and  I  made  her  come  out  to  tell  him  good-bye. 
Then  said  he,  very  quietly: 

"I  have  a  letter  for  you,  Miss  Ames." 

Before  I  could  interfere,  he  handed  it  to  her. 
She  glanced  at  the  superscription,  turned  deathly 
white,  and  after  the  barest  possible  hesitation,  tore 
the  letter  into  four  pieces  and  flung  it  into  the 
waste-basket.  Then  she  looked  at  him — a  look  of 
such  scorn  and  pain  and  bitterness  as  I  never  saw 
in  any  young  face  before — and  turned  toward  her 
room. 

"Wait,"  said  he,  in  that  same  tense,  quiet  tone 
— and  she  waited,  her  back  to  him.  "He  said  you 
would  probably  do  that.  Then  I  was  to  tell  you 
this.  He  loves  you — "  Here  I  got  my  breath  and 
attempted  to  interfere,  but  he  waved  me  aside  as 
if  I  had  been  dry  leaves.  "I'm  sorry,  Mrs.  Pom- 
eroy;  I  must  say  this.  He  loves  you.  He  trusts 
you.  He  will  always  know,  even  if  you  do  not  love 
him,  that  you  will  preserve  the  high  traits  that 

219 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

made  him  love  you,  and  so  he  will  always  go  on  lov 
ing  you — all  his  life.  Thank  you.  That  is  all." 

For  a  moment  we  all  stood  like  statues.  Then 
Berenice  flashed  into  her  room  and  locked  the  door, 
after  which  I  recovered  the  power  of  motion  and 
the  use  of  my  tongue,  and  turned  to  the  Blakeney 
boy  for  an  explanation  of  what  I  assured  him  was 
outrageous  conduct. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  he,  with  unmoved  quiet.  "I 
didn't  like  to  do  that,  but  I  had  to  do  it — for  Perry. 
It  was  the  only  way  to  reach  her.  I  had  a  letter 
from  him  in  Iquique — he  knew  we  came  down  on 
the  same  ship — and  when  I  rejoined  you  and  found 
Gaveston  on  board,  I  thought  he  ought  to  know 
how  things  were  going,  so  I  cabled  him  from  Anto- 
fogasta.  I  got  an  answer  in  Valparaiso  asking  me 
to  keep  him  posted,  and  to  wait  for  a  letter.  That's 
why  I've  been  hanging  around  so  long.  I  know 
how  it  must  look  to  you.  That's  the  reason  I 
wanted  to  say  it  in  your  presence.  I  didn't  want 
you  to  think  I  sneaked  in.  But  you  see,  I  had  to 
do  that  much  for  Perry.  Now  I'll  go  and  tell  Mr. 
Ames.  He  will  be  very  angry." 

I  said  that  he  would,  with  reason,  and  that  the 
whole  affair  was  outrageous  and  shocking,  and  that 
I  was  very  much  surprised  in  him.  Then — Marion, 
I  kissed  him!  He  looked  down  at  me  with  his 
droll  smile,  saying: 

"So  I'm  not  too  late?  I  was  afraid  I  might  be." 
And  though  I  made  no  reply,  he  didn't  seem  to 
notice  it,  and  went  away  very  happily,  I  shall 
miss  him. 

220 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

I  tapped  once  or  twice  at  Berenice's  door  and  got 
no  reply.  Just  before  eleven,  when  I  was  packing 
my  bag — all  this  happened,  you  see,  on  our  very 
last  day  in  Santiago — she  called  me.  I  found  her 
standing  in  her  doorway,  pale  as  the  traditional 
ghost  and  almost  as  impalpable.  She  had  never 
seemed  so  remote.  She  handed  me  a  small  en 
velope. 

"Will  you  give  that  to  Mr.  Gaveston  when  he 
comes,  please?  And  tell  him  I  cannot  see  him — 
again.  I  cannot!  And — please — don't  speak  of — 
any  of  this — ever!"  This  last  was  whispered  from 
behind  the  closing  door,  and  then  the  lock  clicked. 

Gaveston  read  the  note — apparently  only  a  line — 
with  a  black  countenance. 

"Of  course  you  know  all  about  this?"  he  asked; 
and  when  I  assured  him  that  I  knew  nothing  about 
it,  he  sneered.  He  demanded  an  interview  with 
Berenice,  and  when  I  said  that  she  had  refused  to 
see  him  again,  he  accused  me  of  forcing  her  against 
her  will — as  if  anybody  on  earth  could  do  that! — 
and  made  himself  generally  unpleasant.  Mr.  Gav 
eston  is  a  bad  loser.  I  wish  I  thought  we  had  seen 
the  end  of  him,  but  he  will  not  give  up  so  easily. 

He  had  no  sooner  gone  than  in  came  Uncle 
Beverley,  fuming.  Shafter  had  found  him  and 
made  his  confession.  And  did  I  suppose  that  under 
these  circumstances  he  was  going  to  send  Berenice 
back  to  New  York  and  to  the  whipper-snapper  cousin 
of  this  young  scamp  ?  Not  he !  He  had  undertaken 
to  keep  her  in  South  America  for  six  months,  and 
he  was  going  to  do  it! 

221 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

I  calmly  remarked  that  of  course  he  would  do  as 
he  liked  about  that,  but  as  for  me,  I  was  going 
home.  Mr.  Beverley  Ames  is  discovering  that  al 
though  my  sense  of  humor  is  sometimes  stronger 
than  my  amour  propre,  I  am  nevertheless  not  ac 
customed  to  having  my  hands  slapped,  and  diplo- 
matie  relations  are  decidedly  strained.  On  this 
occasion,  he  found  me  almost  as  intractable  as  if  I 
were  a  member  of  his  own  family — which,  thank  the 
good  Lord,  I  am  not ! — and  he  went  off  in  a  rage  to 
breakfast  somewhere,  and  I  went  on  packing. 

Berenice  stayed  in  her  room  all  day,  refusing 
breakfast,  emerging,  however,  in  time  to  go  to  the 
Legation  to  tea,  perfectly  colorless  but  apparently 
entirely  composed. 

The  dear  Gaylords  had  asked  several  of  the  diplo 
matic  set  and  some  others  to  bid  us  "bon  voyage," 
and  we  drove  from  there  directly  to  the  train,  Ned 
and  Mrs.  Yale  accompanying  us  to  the  station. 

Ned  will  be  leaving  in  a  few  days,  presumably 
via  the  Cordillera.  I  wanted  to  go  that  way,  but 
they  told  me  I  must  not  try  that  altitude  again  so 
soon.  Mrs.  Yale  cried  when  she  told  us  good-bye, 
and  my  own  eyes  were  wet.  That  was  the  end  of 
lovely  Santiago. 

The  ride  down  was  uninteresting,  of  course,  being 
wholly  in  the  dark,  and  we  arrived  in  Valparaiso 
about  eleven,  in  a  pouring  rain,  and  the  one  cab  at 
the  station  was  snapped  up  by  somebody  else. 

But  the  porter  from  the  hotel  was  there  looking 
for  us,  and  we  followed  him  and  a  long  procession  of 
boys  laden  with  our  hand  luggage,  through  the 

222 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

glistening  streets  to  the  hotel,  where  we  found  the 
proprietor  waiting  to  shake  hands  with  us  and  make 
us  welcome,  and  our  old  rooms  ready  for  us.  After 
all,  there  is  something  mighty  pleasant  about  the 
manners  and  methods  of  some  of  these  foreign  hotels, 
after  our  brusque,  bustling,  indifferent  American 
ways,  even  though  they  haven't  the  latest  plumb 
ing  and  private  baths. 

So  here  we  are,  packed  and  strapped  and  ready 
to  sail.  It  has  rained  all  the  morning,  but  is  clear 
ing  now,  and  we  shall  go  aboard  in  about  fifteen 
minutes. 

Berenice  is  in  a  mood  of  still  and  tragic  exaltation, 
very  far  indeed  from  earth  and  its  petty  concerns — 
such  as  collar-pins,  comb,  brushes  and  the  like.  I 
found  all  these  articles  and  a  few  more  lying  about 
after  her  bag  was  locked,  and  while  she  was  quite 
indifferent  about  them  at  the  time,  I  fancy  she  will 
find  use  for  them  later.  Hair  must  be  combed  and 
collars  fastened,  though  hearts  break. 

Naturally,  this  won't  last.  When  she  has  touched 
the  highest  point,  the  pendulum  will  swing  to  the 
other  extreme — and  then  will  come  the  tug  of  war. 
Then  I  shall  know — perhaps — what  actual  influence 
I  have  with  her.  And  Heaven  send  that  Gaveston 
be  far  away! 

At  Sea,  May  6th. 

This  has  been  a  beast  of  a  trip — cold,  damp,  dis 
agreeable  in  every  way,  with  mighty  little  to  offer 
as  compensation. 

is  223 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

It  began  with  trouble  about  the  trunks,  which 
were  eventually  all  accounted  for,  after  which  we 
rowed  out  to  the  ship,  to  find  when  we  reached  the 
deck  that  the  landing-ladder  had  been  freshly  painted 
and  that  we  were  covered  from  head  to  foot  with 
smears  of  white  lead.  Imagine  painting  a  ladder 
just  before  passengers  come  aboard!  I  ruined  a 
pair  of  long  black  gloves  and  a  perfectly  good  tem 
per  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  write  it,  neither  of 
which  has  been  replaced. 

I  was  somewhat  cheered  when  I  discovered  a 
crisp,  smiling,  black-f rocked,  white-capped  English 
stewardess,  the  first  I  had  seen  in  this  incarnation, 
and  a  steward  who  gives  the  perfection  of  good 
service.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  these  two — quick, 
quiet,  competent  and  courteous — I  should  have 
given  up  the  ghost  long  ere  this. 

But  the  instant  we  left  the  breezy  deck,  our  nos 
trils  were  assailed — and  oh,  my  dear!  I  don't 
know  why  this  ship  should  be  so  afflicted,  for  it 
seems  to  be  cleaner  and  better  kept  than  some 
others  I  have  travelled  on,  but  never,  even  on  a 
miserable  little  tupenny- ha'penny  coaster,  have  I 
suffered  its  like  in  that  respect.  All  the  accumu 
lated  odors  of  years  rise  and  smite  you  at  every 
turn.  The  deeper  you  go  the  worse  it  gets,  and 
we  are  down  on  the  main  deck! 

I  began  to  wonder  then  what  the  tropics  would  bring 
forth  when  this  was  possible  fifty  degrees  south,  and 
at  that  time  I  had  fully  decided  to  call  Uncle  Bever- 
ley's  bluff  and  go  directly  on  to  England  with  this 
ship.  I  have  since  decided  that  I  would  rather  swim. 

224 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Even  that  first  day  it  was  too  much  for  me. 
When  I  had  finished  unpacking  my  bag  and  getting 
settled,  after  lunch,  the  berth  looked  tempting,  for 
I  was  really  very  tired,  and  I  rolled  in  for  a  nap.  The 
odors  did  the  rest,  together  with  a  "  tummy  "  still 
disordered  from  the  attack  of  siroche,  and  I  awoke 
in  unhappy  plight. 

However,  I  dragged  myself  on  deck,  and  later 
went  to  dinner,  where  some  hot  soup  and  a  glass  of 
champagne  which  Uncle  Beverley  insisted  upon — 
he  is  a  kind  thing,  Marion,  for  he  was  still  perfectly 
furious! — fixed  me  up.  I  finally  went  to  sleep  very 
comfortably,  with  a  hot- water  bottle  at  my  feet  and 
a  sachet  over  my  nose. 

The  next  morning  we  were  at  Lota,  where  the 
ship  lay  all  day  coaling,  and  a  young  man  named 
Miller,  a  nephew  of  one  of  Mr.  Ames'  business  friends 
in  Santiago,  came  aboard  and  invited  us  to  go  ashore 
with  him  to  see  the  Cousino  place.  I  would  have 
refused  to  go,  for  relations  between  Mr.  Ames  and 
me  were  still  strained  almost  to  the  breaking  point, 
but  he  suggested  that  we  owed  it  to  ourselves  to 
spend  as  much  time  as  possible  away  from  the  ship, 
and  I  was  glad  to  acquiesce. 

During  her  lifetime,  Sefiora  Cousino  was  said  to  be 
the  richest  woman  in  Chile,  and  being  of  a  jocund 
temper,  she  "did  a  stately  pleasure  dome  decree" 
down  here  at  Lota,  her  "sacred  river"  rich  veins 
of  coal  that  run  not  only  to  the  sea  but  far  under 
it,  where  her  minions  mined  it — and  still  do,  though 
she  is  long  since  turned  to  clay. 

But  if  she  lacked  Alph,  she  had  here  all  the  rest 
225 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

in  her  "twice  five  miles  of  fertile  ground."  There 
are  sinuous  paths,  beautiful  statues — well,  more  or 
less  beautiful;  some  of  them  are  not  so  bad — 
splendid  trees,  shady  glades,  formal  gardens,  tangled 
hillside  ferneries,  arbors  hung  with  blossoming  vines, 
wide,  sun-flecked  lawns,  fountains,  grottos,  bridges, 
rills,  masses  upon  masses  of  hydrangea,  fading  now, 
and  myriads  of  azaleas,  just  coming  into  flower; 
glimpses  here  and  broad  panoramic  views  there  of 
the  sparkling  blue  bay  or  pine-clad  hills;  porter's 
lodge,  gardener's  cottage,  conservatories,  stables — 
all  down  here  at  the  end  of  the  world,  miles  from 
anything  but  a  coal-mine. 

It  is  a  whole  hill  made  into  a  park,  upon  which 
talented  landscape-gardeners  imported  from  Europe 
have  lavished  their  best  work,  and  it  is  surmounted 
by  an  ungainly  and  unfinished  "palace,"  upon  the 
beautiful  carved  wainscotings  of  which  rests  the 
dust  of  a  decade,  its  grand  staircase  a  hole,  its  floors 
littered  with  lumber  and  crated  marbles — all  un 
touched  since  the  workmen  laid  aside  their  tools 
the  day  "the  old-sefiora"  died,  ten  years  or  more 
ago. 

It  was  like  visiting  some  weird,  haunted  demesne, 
or  the  gardens  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty.  The  present 
owner  of  the  place  is  the  invalid  daughter  of  Sefiora 
Cousifio,  and  no  one  ever  comes  here  now  but  the 
trustees  of  the  estate  and  strangers  who  wish  to 
see  the  park. 

We  were  driven  to  the  clean  little  village  in  the 
depot -wagon  from  the  Cousifio  stables,  and  after 
breakfast  at  the  hotel,  bouquets  of  fine  roses  and 

226 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

most  exquisite  ferns  were  brought  to  us  from  the 
Cousino  conservatories.  Finally,  we  strolled  down 
to  the  wharf,  where  a  four-oared  boat  was  sum 
moned,  and  we  were  rowed  out  through  a  turbulent 
sea  to  the  ship,  our  boatmen  being  drenched  before 
we  arrived. 

Then  followed  days  of  misery,  when  water-bottles 
and  sachet  bags  availed  me  nothing.  Rheumatism 
chained  me  below,  and  again  the  aforesaid  odors  did 
the  rest.  We  had  been  assured  that  the  ship  would 
be  steam  heated,  but  so  far  as  I  can  learn,  the  only 
warmth  in  the  whole  vessel  outside  of  the  galley 
and  the  boiler-room  has  been  in  my  faithful  rubber 
bags. 

It  has  been  very  cold — not  the  sharp,  frosty  cold 
that  invigorates  one,  but  a  damp,  penetrating  chill 
that  gets  into  one's  very  marrow  and  makes  it 
shiver.  Men  sat  in  the  "Music  Saloon"  in  sweaters 
and  heavy  overcoats,  collars  turned  up,  rugs  wrap 
ped  about  their  knees,  and  everybody  had  a  cold. 
It  rained  or  misted  most  of  the  time,  so  the  decks 
were  wet,  and  down  below,  where  I  was  imprisoned, 
it  was  impossible  to  get  even  a  breath  of  fresh  air, 
because  green  seas  washed  constantly  across  the 
ports.  Occasionally  I  was  forced  to  the  decks  to 
breathe,  and  the  damp  cold  sent  me  down  stiffer 
than  ever. 

Even  the  one  thing  I  had  looked  forward  to  was 
denied  me.  Imagine  going  through  the  Strait  of 
Magellan  without  even  a  glimpse  of  its  wondrous 
scenery — its  snowy  mountains  and  tremendous 
glaciers!  Photographs  that  I  had  seen  of  it  in 

227 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Santiago  almost  reconciled  me  to  missing  the  rest 
of  the  Cordillera  trip,  even  though  it  was  not  pos 
sible  for  us  to  go  through  Smyth's  Channel,  where 
the  finest  of  it  lies. 

The  first  night  out,  therefore,  I  asked  the  Captain 
when  we  might  begin  to  look  for  scenery,  and  he 
cheerfully  and  nonchalantly  returned: 

"Oh,  you  won't  see  any  scenery.  We  go  through 
all  that  at  night." 

Likewise,  when  we  lay  anchored  one  morning  off 
Punta  Arenas,*  all  the  beauty  behind,  he  triumphed: 

"There!  You  see?  I  did  it.  I  always  do  it. 
I  don't  miss  it  one  trip  in  ten."  And  when  I  told 
him  that  I  thought  he  was  intensely  disagreeable, 
he  seemed  quite  unable  to  credit  my  sincerity.  He 
thought  I  was  being  humorous. 

His  reason  for  coming  through  all  the  fine  part 
of  the  Strait  at  night  was  that  he  saved  a  little 
time,  arriving  at  Punta  Arenas  in  the  morning  in 
stead  of  at  night,  and  consequently  being  able  to 
get  to  work  at  once.  But  considering  that  this  is 
at  best  a  long  voyage — something  like  five  weeks 
from  Valparaiso  to  Liverpool,  I  believe — twelve 
hours  more  or  less  couldn't  make  much  difference; 
and  as  the  fares  are  inordinately  high  and  the  ser 
vice  poor,  one  does  feel  that  one  is  at  least  entitled 
to  what  little  scenery  there  is. 

If  an  American  company  owned  this  line,  it  would 
be  advertised  as  a  scenic  route  and  operated  ac 
cordingly,  and  tourists  would  flock  to  these  straits 

*  Pronounced  Poon-tah  A-ray-nas. 
228 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

and  channels,  once  they  became  known,  as  they  do 
to  the  fjords  of  Norway,  which  they  are  said  to  re 
semble  in  certain  respects. 

Oh,  how  I  do  long  to  see  my  own  countrymen 
come  down  to  this  side  of  the  equator!  If  they 
would  only  introduce  some  modern  business  methods, 
and  themselves  acquire  some  of  the  courtesy  of 
these  Spanish  peoples  in  doing  it,  what  a  blessing  it 
would  be  for  everybody  concerned!  Some  of  out 
English  and  European  friends  might  not  see  it  in 
that  light,  but  a  little  reconstruction  wouldn't  hurt 
them,  either. 

Punta  Arenas,  the  southernmost  city  in  the  world, 
surprised  me  by  its  size.  It  covers  a  large  area, 
housing  some  twelve  thousand  people,  I  believe, 
and  squats  on  its  bleak  slope  as  if  it  didn't  mind 
the  cold  at  all.  Somehow,  I  expected  to  find  it 
huddled. 

We  were  there  on  Sunday,  so  everything  was  very 
quiet,  but  it  has  good  streets — and  clean,  some  com 
paratively  large  and  well  built  business  houses,  and 
a  few  very  attractive  residences.  It  has  also  a 
rather  forlorn,  frozen-looking  little  plaza,  with  the 
inevitable  band-stand  in  the  centre. 

We  stepped  into  a  fur  and  curio  shop,  of  whose 
proprietor  we  had  heard,  and  when  we  asked  him 
if  his  name  was  Olsen,  he  replied:  "You  bet!" 
whereby  we  knew  we  had  found  our  man. 

Like  everybody  who  has  seen  it,  he  was  full  of 
tales  of  our  fleet  (did  I  tell  you  of  the  great  impres 
sion  it  produced  in  Chile?  Everybody  was  talking 
about  it,  even  when  we  were  there) — his  chiefly 

229 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

celebrating  the  large  quantities  of  his  goods  it  bore 
away.  He  said  that  he  had  to  lock  his  door  to 
keep  the  crowd  out,  and  that  the  street  outside  was 
full  of  American  sailors  holding  up  twenty-dollar 
gold  pieces  and  begging  for  admission.  Once  dur 
ing  their  visit,  a  dressed  sealskin  was  stolen  from 
him.  He  said  nothing,  but  promptly  added  one 
pound  to  the  price  of  every  skin  he  sold  thereafter, 
thus  making  the  many  pay  twenty-fold  for  the  sin 
of  the  one. 

"What  else  could  I  do,  eh?  I'm  not  staying 
down  here  for  my  health,  you  bet!" 

I  bought  a  fascinating  white  feather  boa,  made 
of  the  straight,  short,  downy  feathers  of  the  native 
ostrich,  but  more  nearly  resembling  swansdown 
than  ostrich  feathers  as  we  know  them.  I  asked 
him  if  it  would  wear  well,  and  he  replied: 

"You  bet!  Wash  like  muslin.  And  it's  well 
made.  The  feathers  are  tied  and  sewed.  I  know, 
because  I  make  'em  myself,  and  I'm  the  only  man 
who  does,  you  bet!" 

We  told  him  that  Berenice  had  bought  a  similar 
boa  in  Santiago,  and  a  much  larger  one,  for  less 
money,  which  staggered  him  for  a  moment,  but  he 
recovered  and  said  he  didn't  know  where  it  came 
from,  but  it  certainly  wasn't  any  good,  for  he  made 
the  only  good  ones,  "you  bet!" 

Altogether,  this  was  an  enlivening  episode  after 
our  cold,  dreary  days  at  sea.  Another  was  fur 
nished  by  an  Englishman  who  sits  opposite  us,  at 
the  Captain's  left,  and  who  went  ashore  with  us  on 
Uncle  Beverley's  invitation. 

230 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

After  having  a  very  good  breakfast  together  at 
a  hotel — where,  by-the-way,  there  was  a  stove  with 
a  fire  in  it,  and  I  enjoyed  the  only  comfortable 
moments  I  have  known  since  leaving  Lota — we 
walked  with  him  to  the  telegraph  office.  We  had 
very  little  Chilean  money  left  among  us  by  this 
time,  but  he  had  carefully  saved  a  peso  for  this 
telegram  to  Santiago. 

He  inquired  the  rate,  and  was  told  that  it  was  one 
peso  for  ten  words,  so  he  wrote  his  message  and 
proffered  his  coin.  The  man  at  the  window  read 
it,  and  said: 

"Two  pesos,  please."  The  Englishman  protested 
vigorously.  "  Si,  si,"  acquiesced  the  man,  "  one  peso 
in  Spanish,  but  in  English  two." 

"Very  good,"  quoth  Briton,  pocketing  his  peso 
and  his  message,  "we  do  no  business.  The  English 
made  this  country — if  it  hadn't  been  for  us  you 
wouldn't  have  had  any  country — and  I'm  hanged 
if  I'll  pay  two  pesos  for  writing  in  English!" 

All  the  way  to  the  wharf  he  sputtered  about  it. 
What  would  these  people  have  been  without  the 
English?  A  lot  of  unwashed  cannibals!  They 
wouldn't  have  had  any  country,  he  said;  they 
wouldn't  have  had  any  commerce,  they  wouldn't 
have  had  any  government.  And  now  that  they 
had  been  permitted  to  enjoy  these  things  for  a  few 
years,  they  thought  they  were  strong  enough  to 
turn  around  and  bite  the  Englishmen!  Double 
price  for  a  message  in  English,  by  Jove!  If  they 
had  a  decent  sense  of  gratitude,  they'd  jolly  well 
send  it  for  nothing. 

231 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

This  same  man  averred  at  breakfast  that  England 
itself  is  now  becoming  a  decadent  and  tea-drinking 
nation.  Once  a  man  went  out  about  eleven,  he 
said,  and  had  his  whiskey.  Then  he  had  his  quart 
of  beer  for  lunch,  and  that  was  all  there  was  to  it 
until  dinner.  Now  they  drink  tea  at  all  hours. 

"Beer,  beef  and  the  Bible  made  England  what 
she  is,"  said  he.  "Let  her  stay  there!" 

He  also  says  that  the  English  are  a  nation  of 
kickers! 

From  Punta  Arenas  on  it  has  not  been  so  rough — 
and  at  no  time  has  it  been  very  rough — the  last  two 
days  have  been  a  little  warmer,  and  we  have  seen 
the  sun  again.  It  seemed  odd  last  night  that  it 
should  go  down  on  our  left,  when  for  so  many,  many 
days  at  sea  it  has  always  set  to  the  right.  By  that 
we  know  that  we  have  really  turned  this  corner  of 
the  world,  in  the  shadow  of  the  South  Pole,  and  are 
headed  north  again. 

In  one  of  my  letters  I  said,  in  a  whimsical  mo 
ment,  that  South  America  lay  at  the  end  of  the 
path  through  the  looking-glass,  and  I  have  since 
realized  that  I  can  hardly  give  you  a  better  de 
scription  of  one's  impression  in  and  south  of  Val 
paraiso.  It  is  like  entering  a  reflection  of  one's 
own  environment  and  pursuing  it  to  the  last  sharp 
point  where  perspective  ceases.  Many  things  are 
much  as  they  are  at  home — but  it  is  all  backward. 

South  of  Santiago's  Calif ornian  valley,  for  ex 
ample,  are  Concepcion  and  Valdivia,  where  it  rains 
so  much  that  the  people  are  dubbed  "  web-feet,"  as 
are  the  residents  of  Oregon  and  Washington  on  our 

232 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

own  Pacific  Coast,  and  where  the  hills,  like  ours, 
are  covered  with  dark  pines.  Somewhere  down 
there,  on  the  Argentine  side,  lie  the  wheat-fields  that 
rival  those  of  British  Columbia;  and  south  of  that, 
again,  the  Patagonian  pampas,  where  cattle  and 
sheep  are  raised. 

But  it  is  all  transposed.  Right  is  left  and  left 
is  right.  July  is  in  midwinter,  painters  seek  a  south 
light,  warm  winds  come  from  the  north,  and  while 
things  move  along  in  convincing  sequence,  one  is 
never  quite  free  from  a  haunting  sense  of  hallucina 
tion  and  unreality. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  the  trouble  and  anxiety  I 
had  there,  how  I  did  hate  to  leave  the  west  coast! 
Some  day  I'm  coming  back  to  these  countries,  with 
plenty  of  time  and  plenty  of  money,  and  nobody's 
sweet  will  to  consult  but  my  own,  and  then  I  am 
going  to  do  all  the  things  we  have  done  this  time 
and  a  lot  more,  without  assistance  from  any  of  the 
Jabberwocky  people ! 

I  am  going  to  begin  at  Guayaquil,  where  :'el 
bubonico"  will  by  that  time  be  stamped  out,  and 
when  I've  seen  that,  I'm  going  up  to  Quito,  which  lies 
directly  on  the  equator,  and  is,  as  yet,  comparatively 
uninfluenced  by  foreign  invasion.  I  am  also  going 
up  the  Arroyo  road  from  Lima,  and  to  Cuxco,  where 
the  Inca  ruins  are,  and  into  Bolivia — to  Lake  Titi- 
caca  and  La  Paz,  as  well  as  to  several  other  interest 
ing  places  that  I  have  heard  about. 

I  am  going  to  visit  some  of  the  "oficinas"  in  the 
nitrate  district.  And  then  I  shall  cross  the  Cor 
dillera.  I  shall  not  come  through  the  Strait  again 

233 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

— unless,  perchance,  an  opportunity  to  see  Smyth's 
Channel  should  present  itself.  I'd  endure  a  good 
deal  for  that  privilege.  Think  of  having  been 
so  near  all  these  things  and  seeing  none  of 
them! 

But  then,  when  it  comes  to  that,  think  of  all  the 
things  I  have  seen  that  I  never  even  knew  existed 
until  I  came  down  here. 

Apropos  of  thinking,  I  have  had  plenty  of  time 
for  meditation  myself,  during  all  the  long  days  and 
nights  of  lying  down  here  swathed  in  flannels  and 
packed  in  hot- water  bottles.  Berenice  has  been 
very  helpful  and  thoughtful  in  many  little  ways, 
but  I  have  avoided  any  allusion  to  her  late  experi 
ences — though  I  suspect  Uncle  Beverley  of  having 
labored  with  her  faithfully.  Methinks  I  discovered 
traces  of  his  "sweet  Roman  hand." 

Naturally,  her  mood  of  extreme  exaltation  after 
refusing  Gaveston  lasted  only  a  day  or  two,  and 
then  she  fell  into  black  and  savage  melancholy. 
During  this  period  her  attentions  were  rather  per 
functory,  but  I  was  too  ill  to  care  what  happened 
as  long  as  my  hot-water  bags  were  filled  regularly, 
and  the  stewardess  attended  to  that. 

I  did  see,  however,  that  while  she  was  at  first 
afraid  that  I  might  attempt  some  return  to  our  old 
confidential  talks,  she  finally  perceived  that  I  was 
not  dangerous,  and  then  the  state-room  became  a 
sort  of  haven  to  her  when  Uncle  conscientiously 
gave  the  screws  another  twist.  She  spent  hours 
sitting  down  here  staring  at  the  wall,  and  I  let  her 
gloom  it  out  in  silence,  partly  because  I  was  so  ill, 

234 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

and  partly  because  I  knew  that,  like  any  other 
fever,  it  must  run  its  course. 

Next  she  turned  hard  and  reckless,  and  flung 
youthful  cynicisms  about  until  I  should  have  been 
buried  under  them,  like  the  babes  in  the  wood,  if  I 
had  not  known  that  they  weren't  real.  You  see 
what  she  was  doing,  of  course — living  the  whole  long 
agony  over  again,  from  the  first  bitterness  when  her 
lover  refused  to  elope  with  her — a  memory  which 
cut  deep  after  the  elation  produced  by  his  message — 
on  through  the  various  phases  to  the  mood  in  which 
she  would  have  accepted  Gaveston,  the  more  reck 
less  now  that  she  had  put  that  chance  behind  her 
and  Uncle  Beverley  evidently  was  crowding  the 
mourners  hard. 

I  think  she  would  have  been  glad  of  something 
to  fight  for  a  day  or  two.  She  trailed  the  tail  of 
her  coat  invitingly  before  me,  and  her  eye  taunted 
me,  but  I  didn't  notice  that,  either.  I'll  warrant 
she  took  it  out  of  Uncle,  though,  for  sometimes  she 
came  in  so  flushed  with  victory  that  she  almost  for 
got  to  be  bitter. 

I  don't  mean  to  imply  that  all  this  is  a  conscious 
pose.  Far  from  it!  Simply  that  she  is  very  young, 
with  youth's  conviction  that  tragedy,  to  be  real 
tragedy,  must  wear  a  flowing  black  cloak  and  drag 
its  toes.  And  this  is  deeply  real  tragedy  to  her, 
for  she  is  tossed  and  lashed  by  the  passions  of  an 
undisciplined  nature,  and  nobody  seems  to  see  that 
down  underneath  it  all  is  a  great  strength  that  is 
going  to  make  life  heaven  or  hell  for  her  and  for 
several  other  people,  according  to  how  it  is  developed, 


There  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind,  now,  that  she  really 
loves  Perry  Waite — and  scorns  herself  for  doing  it. 
And  while  the  instances  are  very  rare  when  first 
love  is  real  and  vital — I  have  thanked  Heaven,  fast 
ing,  many  times,  that  the  course  of  mine  was  rocky 
and  ended  in  a  ditch — I  do  believe  that  Berenice 
Ames  has  found  and  dimly  recognized  that  other 
half  which  makes  the  perfect  sphere,  and  when  we 
get  home,  I  shall  have  things  to  say  to  Dick  and 
Helen  about  the  dangers  of  thwarting  that  union — 
if  we  ever  do  get  home. 

Meanwhile,  I  take  it  cheerfully  for  granted  that 
all  the  trouble  is  over,  and  I  have  finally  got  her  to 
the  point  where  she  talks  freely,  for  the  first  time, 
about  impersonal  matters,  and  really  seems  to  en 
joy  the  companionship,  though  she  is  still  cynical. 
When  she  is  fully  convinced  not  only  that  I  don't 
want  to  talk  about  life  and  love  and  sorrow  any 
more,  but  that  I  absolutely  refuse  to,  she  will  begin 
to  hanker  for  the  subject,  and  if  I  can  get  her  to 
seek  me  instead  of  having  to  coax  her,  I  shall  feel 
that  there  is  some  hope  that  I  could  really  help  her 
in  a  crisis.  She  needs  something  firm  to  plant  her 
feet  on,  and  apparently  she  has  never  had  it. 

There  are  some  others  of  us  who  need  a  firm  foot 
ing,  too.  Oh,  Marion,  I  am  so  lonely!  I  don't 
mean  that  I  am  homesick,  except  in  the  deeper 
sense,  which  will  only  hurt  the  more  keenly  when  I 
get  "home"  and  have  no  home  to  go  to — when  I 
meet  my  friends — and  they  are  all  dear  to  me,  you 
dearest  of  all — and  find  no  one  to  whom  my  coming  or 
going  marks  the  difference  between  life  and  existence. 

236 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

It  isn't  anything  new,  this  feeling.  I  have  fooled 
my  world,  I  have  fooled  you — I  have  almost  fooled 
myself,  sometimes,  into  thinking  that  life  was  whole 
for  me,  and  that  my  friendships  and  my  various 
interests  filled  it.  But  always  this  loneliness  has 
been  eating  my  heart,  and  now  it  has  eaten  so  much 
of  it  that  I  can  no  longer  fool  myself  or  you. 

I  know.  You  are  asking  why  I  never  married 
this  one  or  that.  You  have  always  supposed  it  was 
because  of  my  devotion  to  Clark's  memory.  It 
wasn't.  I  have  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about 
Clark  lately — of  that  cloudless  romance  of  ours  and 
the  sudden  nightfall.  It  was  a  sweet  and  tender 
episode — but  I  know  now  that  it  was  only  an  epi 
sode.  Our  love  was  never  put  to  the  test  of  life. 
We  played  together  for  a  few  months,  very  happily, 
and  then  he  died.  Of  course,  I  grieved,  sincerely  and 
deeply,  but  I  know  now  that  no  human  being  can 
tell — I  least  of  all — how  it  would  have  been  with 
us  after  all  these  years. 

And  I  have  never  married  any  of  the  men  who 
have  asked  me  since — they  have  not  been  as  many 
as  people  have  imagined,  either,  for  I  have  a  genius 
for  friendship  and  most  of  my  friends  were  never 
my  lovers — I  have  not  married  because  no  one  of 
these  men  ever  awoke  in  me  the  consciousness  that 
here  was  the  other  half  of  that  sphere  I  have  men 
tioned. 

When  I  married  Clark  I  was  seeking  it ;  when  he 
died,  I  was  still  seeking  it.  I  do  not  mean  that  I 
was  disappointed — and  I  don't  think  he  missed 
anything,  though  I  can't  be  sure.  I  mean  simply 

237 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

that  I  was  still  feeling  for  the  perfect  adjustment. 
I  had  not  found  it  then,  I  have  not  found  it  since — 
and  I  have  never  been  willing  to  call  anything  less 
than  that  marriage. 

Perhaps  this  is  a  foolish  and  impossible  ideal,  but 
it  is  the  one  toward  which  all  my  life  has  moved.  I 
have  been  hard  on  the  women  who  "married  for  a 
home."  I  have  said  that  I  would  respect  them  more 
if  they  sold  themselves  honestly,  keeping  their  de 
filing  hands  off  sacred  and  beautiful  things.  But 
to-day  I  could  almost  bring  myself  to  marry  either 
of  two  men  who  have  asked  me,  if  they  should  ask 
me  again.  Perhaps  I  would  have  the  strength  to 
refuse  if  it  came  to  the  point,  but  I'm  afraid  I 
shouldn't,  so  devouring  is  this  hunger  for  some 
thing  that  is  mine,  even  if  it  isn't  perfect.  Some 
body  to  care  for,  who  would  turn  to  me  for  help, 
or  comfort,  or  companionship,  or  even  for  amuse 
ment.  Something  that  would  be  home,  even  if  cer 
tain  of  its  chambers  were  forever  sealed.  Loneli 
ness  is  making  a  coward  of  me,  dear. 

Ah,  well — there's  no  use  in  your  being  miserable 
because  I  am;  but  it  does  help  to  take  the  lid  off 
my  soul  once  in  a  while  and  show  you  what's  inside. 
Nobody  else  in  all  the  world  has  ever  looked  in. 

Now  let's  come  back  to  earth  and  everyday  life — 
and  don't  stub  your  toe  on  Uncle  Beverley! 

At  Punta  Arenas,  when  I  emerged  from  my  en 
forced  seclusion,  he  attempted  to  assume  that  all 
was  as  "befo'  de  wah,"  but  I  fixed  him  with  my 
glittering  eye  and  he  wilted.  However,  the  Eng 
lishman  was  with  us,  so  he  couldn't  go  into  details, 

238 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

and  immediately  upon  returning  to  the  ship  I  sought 
the  seclusion  that  the  cabin  grants  and  the  solace 
of  hot- water  bottles  for  my  aching  joints. 

Yesterday  was  the  date  of  my  next  reappearance, 
and  you'd  have  thought  a  bereaved  hen  had  re 
covered  her  one  chicken!  Such  a  clucking  and 
scratching  and  ruffling  of  feathers  you  never  be 
held!  And  when  they  had  me  ensconced  in  the 
warmest  corner,  rugs  and  pillows  and  hot- water 
bags  and  salts  and  books  and  Heaven  knows  what, 
all  disposed  where  they  would  do  the  most  good, 
he  asked  humbly  whether  he  might  have  a  few 
minutes'  conversation  with  me. 

I  said  that  he  might,  but  I  was  very  haughty 
about  it.  I  still  remembered  having  my  hands 
slapped.  Then,  dear  girl,  poor  old  Uncle  Beverley 
metaphorically  got  down  on  his  knees  to  me  and 
apologized  for  everything  he  had  ever  said  or  done 
or  intimated  or  thought,  until  I  simply  had  to  for 
give  him.  I  know  how  hard  that  sort  of  thing 
comes  to  one  of  his  blood. 

When  this  had  all  been  fixed  up  and  the  peace 
pipe  smoked,  he  asked  me  whether  I  knew  how 
matters  stood  between  Berenice  and  Gaveston.  The 
minx  hadn't  told  him!  And  when  I  replied  that  all 
I  knew  about  it  was  that  her  farewell  to  the  gentle 
man  was  conveyed  in  a  note  which  made  him  very 
angry,  Uncle  Beverley  rubbed  his  hands  and  said 
that  it  was  gratifying  to  learn  that  his  appeal  to 
her  loyalty  and  pride  of  family  had  not  been  made 
in  vain.  This  was  where  I  took  to  smelling-salts! 
There  was  nothing  stronger  at  hand. 
16  239 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Then  he  alluded  to  Shafter  Blakeney  and  his  "  un 
warrantable  interference,"  and  was  confident  that 
I  now  saw  the  necessity  of  keeping  Berenice  out  of 
New  York  as  long  as  possible.  I  reminded  him 
that  Gaveston  was  still  in  South  America,  but  he 
pooh-poohed  the  suggestion,  and  said  Berenice  had 
learned  that  lesson  and  we  need  not  fear.  I  argued 
the  matter  at  some  length — of  course  to  no  purpose 
— but  he  is  the  general  in  command,  and  the  result 
is  that  we  are  to  carry  out  the  trip  as  originally 
planned. 

Mrs.  Rankin  was  not  mentioned.  I  don't  think 
he  saw  much  of  her  those  last  days,  as  Ned  seemed 
to  be  absorbing  most  of  her  leisure  time.  There  was 
something  about  Ned's  helping  her,  unofficially,  in 
connection  with  some  business,  but  I  fancy  that 
was  more  or  less  an  excuse.  He  evidently  liked  her, 
and  he  spent  a  lot  of  time  with  her.  Isn't  it  strange 
that  that  sort  of  woman  can  always  pull  the  wool 
over  a  good  man's  eyes  ?  I  have  tried  to  think  that 
I  was  mistaken  about  her,  for  Ned's  sake;  but  I 
know  I'm  not.  She  couldn't  fool  Gaveston  a  quarter 
of  a  minute,  but  poor  old  Ned  will  have  to  pay  the 
piper  somehow.  However — it's  none  of  my  affair. 
Thank  Heaven,  I  haven't  that  on  my  conscience! 

We  shall  see  him  again  in  Rio,  but  I  am  not  antici 
pating  it  with  any  particular  eagerness.  We  shall 
have  a  good  time  together,  of  course.  We  always 
do.  But  somehow — Ned  seemed  so  far  away  those 
last  days.  Friendly  as  ever,  in  one  way — but  clear 
out  of  reach.  It  is  the  first  time  he  ever  failed  me. 

Perhaps  nobody  could  give  me  the  help  I  so  des- 
240 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

perately  needed,  or  perhaps  he  didn't  understand. 
There's  no  reason  why  he  should — except  that  he 
always  has  before.  Or  perhaps  he  found  me 
changed  and  was  disappointed.  Of  course,  that's 
it — but  I  hate  to  admit  it.  I  expect  too  much  of 
life,  don't  I  ?  I  always  did. 

Anyhow,  neither  Berenice  nor  Uncle  Beverley  has 
been  gobbled  by  any  predatory  beasts  yet — do  you 
remember  the  woman  who  refused  "Welsh  rabbit" 
because  she  didn't  like  "four-footed  wild  game"? — 
and  my  stock  as  a  sympathetic  audience  is  again 
at  par. 

Mr.  Ames  has  been  hanging  about  for  half  an 
hour.  Now  I'll  put  away  my  pen  and  settle  down 
to  hear  some  more  about  the  Civil  War.  It  is  really 
quite  soothing  after  the  "shrill  notes  of  anger  and 
mortal  alarms"  that  we  have  been  through.  Aren't 
we  the  happy  family,  though? 


Buenos  Aires,  May  i8th. 

I  know.  I  have  not  written  for  nearly  two  weeks. 
My  long-raging  cacoethes  scribendi  seems  to  have 
passed  its  crisis  and  waned;  or  perhaps  it  has 
merged  into  the  passion  for  fault-finding — cacoethes 
carpendi,  if  my  Latin  serves — that  now  possesses 
me,  for  nothing  seems  quite  as  it  should. 

I  suppose  the  real  trouble  is  that  I  am  tired.  I 
wasn't  caught  young  enough  for  this  job.  If  one 
is  going  to  attempt  to  chaperon  a  Young  Wild 
Thing  through  the  Wet  Wild  Woods,  one  needs  to 

241 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

have  begun  training  for  it  in  childhood,  like  any 
other  acrobat.  Otherwise,  it  gets  on  one's  nerves. 

Anyway,  it  got  on  mine — and  it  still  sits  heavy. 
As  long  as  we  danced  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  I 
kept  myself  fairly  well  in  hand  and  relieved  the 
tension  by  writing  all  about  it  to  you,  but  as  soon 
as  the  immediate  danger  was  over,  I  slumped — 
badly — as  you  will  have  discovered  before  this 
reaches  you,  since  which  nothing  has  seemed  worth 
while,  writing  least  of  all.  But  at  any  rate,  I 
have  the  grace  to  be  ashamed  of  the  last  screed  I 
sent  you.  I  get  hot  all  over  when  I  think  of  that 
wail !  You  are  wise  in  the  ways  of  the  human  heart, 
though,  and  I  hope  you'll  understand.  I  am  not 
denying  that  at  the  moment  I  felt  it  all — and  more, 
but  I  needn't  have  said  so. 

I  haven't  yet  pulled  myself  out  of  the  bog — 
perhaps  because  there  has  been  no  compelling  cry 
from  Macedonia,  and  all  that  is  required  of  me  is 
amiability  and  a  certain  amount  of  patience. 

Berenice  has  turned  indifferent  again — not  to  me 
especially,  but  to  things  in  general.  Nothing  in 
terests  her.  I  can't  find  it  in  my  heart  to  blame  her 
for  that,  however,  as  I  am  in  the  same  boat.  Noth 
ing  interests  me  very  much,  either. 

I  did  enjoy  our  week  in  Montevideo,*  which,  from 
the  moment  I  looked  out  of  my  porthole  and  saw 
the  sun  shining  on  the  fortified,  cone-shaped  moun 
tain  from  which  the  city  takes  its  name,  until 
we  walked  from  the  hotel  to  the  river  steamer 

*  Pronounced  Mon-tay-vee-dciy-oh. 
242 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

that  brought  us  up  here,  never  ceased  to  be  at 
tractive. 

It  is  a  pretty  little  city,  much  more  modern  than 
any  we  had  then  seen  in  South  America,  and  de 
lightfully  situated  on  a  peninsula,  with  glimpses  of 
water  at  the  end  of  almost  every  street,  and  sundry 
hills  about. 

It  has  better  buildings  and  more  of  them,  better 
streets,  finer  and  more  numerous  parks  and  plazas, 
larger  shops,  more  fountains  and  statues — some  of 
these  very  beautiful,  and  much  handsomer  resi 
dences  than  the  west-coast  towns.  In  short,  the 
whole  place  has  an  air — a  manner — quite  different 
from  anything  we  saw  over  there.  It  is  a  modern 
city,  but  it  also  has  a  certain  quaintness  and  great 
charm — a  thing  as  elusive  and  impossible  of  defin 
ition  in  a  city  as  in  a  woman.  Still — I  do  not  love 
Montevideo  as  I  do  Santiago. 

Two  or  three  customs  that  I  happened  to  notice 
interested  me  particularly,  as  they  prevail  in  so 
many  Spanish-American  cities  that  they  must  be 
legacies  from  Spain.  As  in  Havana  and  in  certain 
Mexican  towns  that  I  know,  the  elfin  music  of  the 
syrinx — the  pipes  o'  Pan — beneath  one's  window 
announce  that  the  scissors-grinder  passes.  Electric 
trams  jangle  their  bells,  as  with  us,  but  all  drivers 
of  horse-cars  carry  a  tiny  horn — literally  a  horn, 
with  a  reed  set  in  it — upon  which  they  blow  a  mel 
low  note  before  turning  a  corner  or  to  warn  ob 
structionists  to  clear  the  track.  And  the  police,  by 
means  of  their  soft  and  musical  whistles,  convey 
all  sorts  of  information  to  one  another.  A  certain 

243 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

arrangement  of  notes  means  all's  well,  another 
summons  assistance,  still  another  says,  "Watch  this 
person  who  approaches,"  and  so  on.  All  night  long, 
if  one  happens  to  be  wakeful,  these  dulcet  measures 
may  be  heard,  now  close  at  hand,  now  clear  and 
distant  as  an  echo,  always  pleasant  to  the  ear. 

We  took  a  tram  out  to  Pocitos,  a  suburb  on  the 
seashore,  where  many  of  the  houses  were  tall  and 
spikey,  and  were  spotted  or  striped  fantastically, 
like  the  edifices  children  build  with  blocks.  Few 
trees  are  about  them,  and  to  me  they  were  not  par 
ticularly  attractive.  But  the  next  day  we  drove 
to  the  Prado,  a  park,  and  on  the  way  out  passed 
two  or  three  miles  of  beautiful  residences,  large, 
low,  fitting  the  environment,  and  either  disclosing 
through  open  doors  tempting,  blossom-filled  patios, 
or  being  themselves  set  far  back  in  luxuriant,  shady 
gardens. 

The  crowd  in  the  Prado  was,  of  course,  very  in 
teresting.  There  were  many  presentable  equipages 
and  very  many  striking  hats,  gowns  and  complex 
ions.  An  amusing  American  woman  whom  we  met 
in  Montevideo  said  that  when  she  first  came  to 
these  countries  to  live,  she  felt  that  she  was  making 
herself  very  conspicuous  because  she  appeared  in 
public  with  a  face  au  naturel! 

The  people,  generally  speaking,  are  good-looking, 
though  I  saw  few  individual  faces  that  were  es 
pecially  strong  or  attractive.  They  seemed  to  me 
less  aggressive  but  more  sophisticated  than  the 
Chileans.  The  course  of  empire  touched  them  first. 

However,  all  these  opinions  of  mine  are  only  im- 
244 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

pressions — snap-shots  caught  on  the  wing — for  we 
are  not  staying  anywhere  long  enough  to  acquire 
any  real  knowledge  of  people  or  conditions,  and  the 
people  who  live  here  contradict  one  another  about 
everything. 

This  has  been  true  everywhere  we  have  been. 
One  resident  of  a  country  has  told  us  that  the  inhab 
itants  were  intelligent  and  industrious,  another  that 
they  were  lazy  and  stupid ;  one  has  said  that  the  peo 
ple  were  trustworthy,  another  that  they  were  treach 
erous;  one  that  they  were  normally  honest,  another 
that  they  were  all  thieves;  one  that  a  country  was 
progressing,  another  that  its  only  hope  lay  in  immi 
gration  ;  one  that  the  government  here  or  there  was 
fairly  sound,  another  that  it  was  absolutely  rotten ; 
one  that  life  down  here  was  pleasant,  another  that 
it  was  all  but  intolerable — and  there  you  are!  As 
for  myself,  I  think  it's  just  like  all  the  rest  of 
the  world,  and  that  is — as  you  take  it.  Light  and 
shadow  balance  pretty  evenly  everywhere,  I  fancy. 

But  the  more  I  travel  the  more  I  marvel  at  those 
gifted  persons  who  skim  across  a  country  or  a  con 
tinent,  touching  it  here  and  there,  as  we  are  doing, 
talking  to  this  and  that  person,  as  we  are  doing, 
reading  this  or  that  descriptive  book  or  pamphlet 
as  we  are  doing — and  then  confidently  toddle  home 
to  write  solemn  disquisitions  about  it,  in  which 
they  make  positive  statements  about  its  people  and 
politics,  manners  and  morals,  agriculture  and  com 
merce,  art,  literature  and  religion,  not  to  mention 
its  flora,  fauna,  mineral  wealth  and  hotels,  and  ex 
pect  to  be  taken  seriously  in  the  telling!  To  my 

245 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

notion,  no  man — nor  woman,  either — can  really  tell 
the  truth  about  a  country  until  he  has  lived  in  it 
and  studied  it,  and  even  then  he  needs  the  tongues 
of  men  and  of  angels. 

We  went  pawn-shopping  in  Montevideo,  as  we 
have  in  every  place  we  have  visited,  and  bought, 
among  other  things,  a  beautiful  old  rosary  of  wood 
and  silver.  When  we  approached  the  quaint,  fat 
old  woman  who  presided  over  the  shop,  and  asked 
the  price  of  the  rosaries  in  her  window,  she  sat  still 
in  her  chair,  and  counterquestioned : 

"Why  should  you  ask  about  rosaries?  You  do 
not  look  like  Catholics."  We  pressed  our  inquiry, 
and  she  finally  replied,  "Dos  pesos,"  still  without 
budging. 

"Show  them  to  me,"  said  I,  rather  sharply,  and 
she  got  up  reluctantly,  complaining  that  we  cer 
tainly  would  not  buy  rosaries  when  we  were  Prot 
estants. 

Neither  would  she  come  down  in  her  price,  as 
most  of  them  expect  to  do,  so  we  paid  the  two 
pesos  and  left  her  still  grumbling  that  we  were  no 
Catholics  and  why  should  we  buy  a  rosary? 

The  fine  large  steamers  that  leave  Montevideo — 
three  of  them — every  night  during  the  season,  have 
been  taken  off,  and  we  came  up  the  river  in  a  crazy 
little  ark  that  Noah  must  have  improved  upon,  or 
the  animals  would  have  cut  him  up  and  made  him 
— and  all  the  rest  of  the  human  family — into  mat 
tresses.  However,  we  survived  the  night,  but  all 
we  saw  of  the  River  of  Silver,  aside  from  a  few  lights 
along  its  distant  banks,  was  a  muddy,  eddying, 

246 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

twisting  current  that  kept  the  boat  corkscrewing 
about  in  what  seemed  an  utter  and  reckless  dis 
regard  of  its  rudder. 

At  half -past  four  the  next  morning  we  docked  in 
Buenos  Aires,*  "the  Paris  of  South  America,"  and 
an  hour  or  so  later,  emerged  from  our  cubbyholes, 
a  pale,  heavy-eyed  trio.  The  first  thing  I  saw  was 
a  busy  dock,  with  quantities  of  shipping  about  and 
a  cosmopolitan  crowd  of  loafers;  the  next  was  the 
sun  glinting  upon  the  golden  triple  cross  of  the 
Russian  Cathedral,  somewhere  across  the  city. 

We  drove,  in  a  rubber-tired  victoria,  over  asphalt 
pavements,  through  tree-bordered  boulevards,  into 
a  city  with  an  air  distinctly  modern — a  real  city. 
We  came  to  a  hotel  equipped  with  steam-heat  and 
running  water  and  a  cuisine  that  would  make  the 
most  firmly  anchored  anchorite  you  ever  heard  of 
cut  his  moorings  and  fall  to — and  still  we're  not 
happy! 

Buenos  Aires  has  miles  upon  miles  of  well-paved 
streets,  among  them  the  famed  and  beautiful  Avenida 
de  Mayo,  where  the  cafes  spill  out  on  the  sidewalks, 
Paris  fashion;  thousands  upon  thousands  of  twink 
ling  electric  lights,  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  hand 
some  carriages  and  automobiles,  scores  upon  scores 
of  glittering  shops,  dozens  upon  dozens  of  plazas 
more  or  less  ornamented  with  trees,  fountains,  and 
statues — and  millions  upon  millions  of  dollars. 

There  seems  to  be  an  impression  prevailing  in  the 
United  States  that  this  city  is  surrounded  by  moun- 

*  Pronounced  Bway-nos  Eye-rays. 
247 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

tains  and  forests.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  set  in  the 
midst  of  a  vast,  alluvial  plain,  and  is  as  flat  as 
Chicago,  the  gray  river,  so  wide  here  that  the 
opposite  bank  is  not  visible,  taking  the  place  of 
Lake  Michigan.  Indeed,  it  reminds  one  strongly 
of  Chicago  in  many  ways — a  Chicago  Latinized  and 
clean. 

The  cleanliness  of  many  of  these  South  American 
cities,  as  to  streets  and  public  places,  is  a  thing  to 
give  us  pause.  Buenos  Aires,  almost  as  large  and 
as  busy  and  as  bustling  as  Chicago,  is  as  clean  as  a 
new  whistle  from  end  to  end.  Why  are  we  so  stupid 
about  municipal  housekeeping  ? 

To  the  commercial  traveller  who  has  spent  weeks 
or  months  of  hardship  and  deprivation  in  dirty, 
dreary  little  towns,  to  the  planter  and  cattle  man — 
and  their  wives  and  daughters — in  for  a  few  days 
from  "the  camp,"  Buenos  Aires  is  a  radiant,  glister 
ing,  Christmas-tree  heaven.  To  the  business  man 
it  is  Opportunity — in  capitals.  To  the  student  of 
economics  it  is  a  remarkable  example  of  rapid  com 
mercial  growth,  fully  equalling  in  that  respect — and 
in  some  others  inevitably  bound  up  with  it — the 
most  spectacularly  successful  of  our  own  mush 
room  cities.  But  to  the  traveller  who  knows  Paris 
and  London  and  New  York,  it  has  little  of  novelty 
to  offer  except  its  isolation,  away  off  down  here  by 
itself. 

Still,  if  New  York  were  the  only  city  in  the  United 
States — some  people  think  it  is! — or  Paris  were  the 
only  city  in  western  Europe,  we  would  know,  be 
yond  the  peradventure  of  a  doubt,  that  they  were 

248 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

the  most  brilliant,  the  most  beautiful  and  altogeth 
er  the  most  unapproachably  wonderful  cities  in  all 
creation,  wouldn't  we?  Well,  that's  the  way  it  is 
down  here  in  the  Argentine,  and  woe  be  to  the  un 
wary  wayfarer  who  ventures  the  mildest  intimation 
to  the  contrary! 

We  have  seen  the  far-famed  carriage  parade  pass 
beneath  our  windows  in  Florida,  the  principal  shop 
ping  street,  and  like  Pierre  de  Bon  Ton  de  Paris,  "  I 
assure  you  it's  something  to  see."  The  street  is  nar 
row  and  very  brilliantly  lighted,  and  every  night  a 
double  line  of  carriages  filled  with  Parisian  toilettes, 
accented  here  and  there  by  speckless  frock-coats  and 
shiny  silk-hats  and  patent  leathers,  moves  slowly 
through  it,  with  frequent  long  stops  while  the  very 
efficient  police  straighten  out  some  tangle  of  traf 
fic.  We  have  also  taken  a  carriage  and  joined  the 
procession,  doing  our  share  of  staring  and  being 
stared  at. 

Likewise,  we  have  driven  to  Palermo,  where  I 
saw  the  most  wonderful  concourse  of  carriages  that 
I  ever  beheld  anywhere — except,  of  course,  at  some 
great  race.  At  one  time,  there  were  six  lines  of 
vehicles  passing  and  repassing  one  another  in  this 
weekly  social  parade.  I  doubt  if  anything  like  it 
exists  elsewhere  in  the  world.  And  when  dusk  fell 
and  we  drove  in  to  town  again,  the  wide  street  was 
full  from  curb  to  curb  of  swift-rolling  carriages,  all 
going  the  same  way,  so  that  even  men  crossed  the 
tide  only  under  police  protection,  boys  on  horse 
back  had  difficulty  in  threading  their  way  among 
the  wheels,  and  the  rattle  of  hoofs  on  the  wooden 

249 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

pavements  was  like  thunder.  And  in  half  an  hour, 
practically  all  these  carriages  were  in  the  sinuous 
line  crawling  under  the  mellow,  yellow  lights  of 
Florida. 

Already  we  have  met  some  pleasant  people,  diplo 
matic  and  otherwise,  and  have  several  invitations 
for  this  week  and  next,  but — "if  the  salt  have  lost 
his  savor,  wherewith  shall  it  be  salted?"  As  I  said 
before,  I  suppose  I  am  tired  out. 

This  has  really  been  Uncle  Beverley's  objective 
point,  and  he  is  busier  than  a  boy  killing  snakes 
most  of  the  time,  so  we  do  not  see  a  great  deal  of 
him,  except  at  dinner  and  during  the  evening,  when 
little  is  required  of  Berenice  and  me  except  to  look 
our  prettiest  and  be  respectfully  attentive. 

Like  many  another  good  man,  when  Uncle  Bever- 
ley  is  in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  he  likes  to  have 
his  eye  gratified,  but  he  wants  the  centre  of  the 
stage  and  all  the  spot-light  for  himself. 

It  sounds  easy  for  me,  doesn't  it?  What  is 
called  in  the  vernacular  a  snap,  all — well,  hardly 
cakes  and  ale,  but  pretzels  and  beer,  say.  That's 
about  what  it  is.  Pretzels  give  me  a  devourin' 
thirrst  and  beer  makes  me  sleepy;  and  if  the  mind 
of  man  has  devised  any  worse  torment  than  the 
necessity  of  listening  sympathetically  to  a  historical 
monologue  when  you  are  sleepy,  tell  me  about  it, 
quick!  It  might  keep  me  awake! 

You  see,  I  am  neither  fish,  flesh,  fowl,  nor  good 
red  herring  in  this  family  group,  for  I  share  most 
of  the  obligations  and  few  of  the  privileges  of  mem 
bership  in  the  Ames  clan.  However,  Uncle  Beverley 

250 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

is  really  doing  his  level  best  to  be  agreeable  and  to 
atone  for  all  the  things  he  did  and  said  those  last 
three  days  in  Santiago,  and  I  would  be  a  worm  o' 
the  earth  not  to  second  his  efforts  to  keep  things 
smooth. 

He  has  adopted  a  queer  sort  of  attitude  toward 
me  now — a  kind  of  semi-confidential,  how-perfectly- 
we-understand-each-other  manner.  Sometimes  I 
catch  him  smiling  at  me  in  a  way  that  makes  me 
feel  as  if  he  had  called  me  Anne,  though  he  never 
would  dream  of  doing  anything  so  impertinent,  and 
when  we  go  out  together,  I  am  always  conscious  of 
being  tucked  under  his  arm,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
he  is  most  punctilious  in  offering  it  to  me  only  when 
occasion  demands.  It  must  be  that  he  has  decided 
to  let  me  be  a  sister  to  him,  for  certainly,  after  all 
that  has  happened,  he  can  have  no  further  wish  to 
marry  me.  Besides,  his  manner  is  not  tentative. 
My  position,  whatever  it  is,  is  definite  and  permanent. 
*  *  * 

20th. — Something  interrupted  there,  and  now  it 
is  evidently  time  for  the  Bi-Colored-Python-Rock- 
Snake  to  awake  from  her  slumbers  and  get  a  "fresh 
holt"  on  the  hind  legs  of  the  'satiable  Elephant's 
Child.  Moreover,  it  behooves  her  to  attach  herself 
firmly  and  to  pull  with  a  long  pull  and  a  strong 
pull,  for  Mrs.  Rankin  has  arrived,  with  Mrs.  Beaver, 
via  the  Cordillera,  and  I  opine  that  we  are  now 
about  to  enter  upon  a  decisive  engagement. 

She  crossed  just  in  time,  by-the-way,  for  there 
has  been  a  big  storm  in  the  mountains  and  the  Pass 
is  closed  for  the  winter. 

251 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Other  things  have  happened,  also.  Mrs.  Rankin 
and  her  cousin  breakfasted  with  us,  and  the  Bander- 
snatch  playfully  asked  Berenice  what  she  had  done 
to  "poor  Mr.  Gaveston." 

"  He  was  a  changed  man  after  you  left,"  said  she. 
"He  moped  around — wouldn't  go  anywhere  or  do 
anything,  and  seemed  perfectly  hopeless  and  des 
perate,  you  naughty,  fascinating  little  puss!" 

Berenice  doesn't  like  this  sort  of  thing,  and  neither 
does  she  like  Mrs.  Rankin,  so  she  put  her  chin  in  the 
air  and  looked  through  the  promoter  lady,  while 
Uncle  Beverley  um-ed  and  ah-ed  and  intimated  that 
we  had  all  been  sadly  deceived  in  Mr.  Gaveston. 

"Poor  fellow!"  murmured  his  frumious  friend. 
"Don't  be  too  hard  on  him,  for  he  was  so  desper 
ately  in  love!  Surely,  you  know  how  that  is,  dear 
Mr.  Ames!"  At  which  coquettish  sally,  Berenice 
giggled  and  dear  Mr.  Ames  turned  the  color  of  a 
rich,  deep  amethyst.  "You  mustn't  mind  that  he 
told  me  a  little  about  it,  either,"  she  simpered,  "for 
he  was  so  unhappy,  and  somehow — I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  why,  but  people  always  turn  to  me  when  they 
are  in  trouble." 

Uncle  Beverley  rose  to  the  bait  and  said  that  it 
was  because  she  was  so  sympathetic;  but  I  had 
learned  one  thing  more.  They  are  working  together. 
I  wonder  whether  the  lady  conducts  a  sort  of  matri 
monial  promotion  bureau,  among  her  other  indus 
tries,  and  what  Gaveston  promised  to  pay  her  out 
of  Berenice's  fortune,  if  she  helped  him  "pull  it 
off,"  as  he  would  say? 

Another  thing  that  has  happened  is  mail — a  lot 

252 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

of  delayed  letters,  forwarded  from  Santiago,  and 
some  that  came  directly,  evidently  by  a  fast  steamer, 
among  them  several  each  from  you  and  Helen.  But 
the  last  is  in  reply  to  my  second  letter  from  Lima — 
a  time  so  remote  that  it  seems  like  a  previous 
incarnation. 

There  are  a  lot  of  questions  in  your  letters,  but 
I  think  all  of  them  have  been  answered  before  they 
reached  me — except  one,  and  it  happens  to  be  one 
that  voices  a  misconception  very  common  among  us. 

You  ask  whether  we  are  meeting  any  of  the 
"Spanish  aristocracy,"  and  how  much  pure  Spanish 
blood  there  is  down  here.  So  far  as  I  know,  there 
is  none.  Nor  are  Spaniards  particularly  liked;  in 
fact,  they  are  particularly  disliked  in  some  of  these 
countries.  Certain  old  families  pride  themselves  on 
their  Spanish  descent,  to  be  sure,  as  we  trace  back 
to  Plymouth  or  Jamestown,  but  they  are  no  fonder 
of  being  called  Spanish  than  we  are  of  being  called 
English,  and  for  much  the  same  reasons. 

These  nations  are  as  distinct  as  our  own,  with  a 
language  borrowed,  like  ours,  from  the  mother  coun 
try,  and  like  us,  they  all  celebrate,  with  pageants 
and  flags  and  fireworks,  the  anniversary  of  their 
national  independence.  Buenos  Aires  is  even  now 
preparing  for  one  of  these  celebrations,  the  twenty- 
fifth  of  May,  which  is,  I  believe,  the  anniversary  of 
their  "  casting  off  the  yoke  "  of  England.  It  is  in 
teresting  to  note,  by-the-way,  that  the  Argentines 
have  what  are  said  to  be  the  only  English  flags  in 
captivity.  There  is  a  story,  for  the  truth  of  which 
I  do  not  vouch,  that  within  a  few  years,  this  Republic 

253 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

courteously  offered  to  return  these  flags,  and  that 
England  tartly  replied  that  when  she  wanted  the 
banners,  she  would  come  and  get  them.  They  are 
still  in  the  Cathedral  here — a  very  beautiful  building. 

Another  Argentine  day  of  independence  marks 
their  final  separation  from  Spain.  No,  there  is 
nothing  that  could  be  called  a  Spanish  aristocracy 
down  here.  We  have  met  delightful  native  people 
in  all  these  countries,  but  they  are  Peruvians,  Chil 
eans,  Argentines,  not  Spaniards. 

Apparently  Helen  had  not  heard  a  word  about 
Gaveston  from  anybody,  but  she  was  very  much 
worked  up  about  Shafter  Blakeney's  proximity, 
and  implores  me  to  keep  the  young  people  apart, 
"as  his  presence  can  only  mean  mischief." 

Berenice  also  received  letters,  "from  the  family 
and  some  of  the  girls,"  she  says,  but  something  in 
them  has  thrown  her  into  one  of  her  towering 
passions.  She  talks  a  good  deal  about  nothing, 
which  means  that  mischief  is  brewing,  and  every 
time  I  look  into  her  eyes,  I  give  thanks  that  the 
Pass  is  closed  and  Gaveston  safe  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Cordillera. 

Buenos  Aires,  June  5th. 

Oh,  my  Beloved,  why  can't  I  learn  not  to  whistle 
until  my  chickens  are  hatched  ?  Here  was  I,  chant 
ing  a  Jubilate  because  the  devil  had  retreated  a  few 
feet  from  the  deep  sea,  leaving  me  footway  between, 
and  all  the  time  Gaveston  was  planning  his  next 
play,  which  was  to  cross  the  theoretically  impass- 

254 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

able  Cordillera  alone  with  a  guide,  whence  he  de 
scended  upon  us — a  veritable  wolf  on  the  fold — a 
few  days  ago,  showing  fingers  blackened  and  be 
numbed  by  frostbite  to  prove  what  he  had  suffered 
for  love's  sweet  sake.  And  he  has  beaten  us!  He 
has  won,  though  we  are  still  haggling  over  the  terms 
of  surrender. 

Of  course,  Berenice  was  impressed — what  ro 
mantic,  silly  girl  wouldn't  be  ? — and  still  talks  flam 
boyantly  about  his  having  imperilled  his  life  just 
to  see  her  again,  which  is  the  wonder  tale  he  told 
her  when  he  first  arrived.  He  knew  that  Mr.  Ames 
and  I  were  both  against  him,  he  said,  so  he  had  lit 
tle  hope  of  being  permitted  to  speak  to  her,  but  he 
had  taken  the  bitter  trip  gladly,  just  on  the  chance 
of  being  able  even  to  gaze  upon  her  from  afar. 

That  he  had  opportunity  to  tell  her  any  story 
whatever  was  due  to  the  fact  that  I  haven't  had  to 
guard  against  him  every  enduring  minute  here,  and 
I  had  gone  out  to  do  an  errand,  leaving  Berenice 
writing  letters  in  her  room.  While  I  was  away,  he 
sent  up  his  card,  and  when  I  returned,  there  they 
sat  in  the  patio,  her  eyes  widening  and  darkening 
as  he  made  light  of  his  poor,  blackened  fingers  and 
the  perils  he  had  endured  for  her  sake. 

That  is  a  tale  that  never  yet  failed  to  move  a 
daughter  of  Eve,  as  Mr.  Gaveston  very  well  knew — 
like  Desdemona,  we  always  love  them  for  the  dan 
gers  they  have  passed,  and  not  infrequently  get 
strangled  for  our  pains! — and  naturally  it  stirred 
something  down  in  the  turbulent  heart  of  this 
woman-child,  and  she  leaned  toward  him. 

"  255 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

They  evidently  expected  me  to  strike  an  attitude 
and  bid  him  begone.  Instead,  I  shook  hands  with 
him  and  ordered  tea,  after  which  I  told  him  very 
quietly  that  I  could  not  receive  him  without 
Mr.  Ames'  permission,  as  Berenice  was  in  her 
uncle's  care,  not  in  mine,  and  suggested  that  he 
see  Mr.  Ames  and  try  to  fix  up  some  sort  of  a 
truce. 

He  was  inclined  to  show  his  teeth  a  little  at  this, 
but  Berenice  assured  him  very  earnestly  that  I 
would  do  all  I  could  to  insure  fair  play  for  them — 
thank  Heaven,  I  have  at  least  succeeded  in  winning 
her  affection  and  confidence,  though  I  have  accom 
plished  mighty  little  else! — and  he  finally  took  him 
self  off  to  find  Uncle  Beverley. 

Naturally,  that  gentleman  pranced  in  within  the 
hour,  fuming  and  foaming,  but  I  caught  him  in  the 
patio  and  had  a  heart-to-heart  talk  with  him  before 
he  saw  Berenice,  during  which  I  beat  it  into  him 
that  if  he  made  one  more  scene  like  the  one  we  had 
in  Santiago,  Berenice  would  run  away  with  Gaves- 
ton  in  spite  of  us,  and  that  I  shouldn't  particularly 
blame  her. 

On  top  of  this  I  hammered  in  the  conviction  that 
the  one  way  to  manage  the  child  was  the  one  way 
the  Ameses  apparently  had  never  tried — namely, 
through  her  affections,  and  advanced  the  thesis, 
evidently  new  to  him,  that  "  where  there's  a  will, 
there's  generally  a  won't."  I  urged  him  to  lay  no 
commands  upon  her,  but  to  try  what  could  be  ac 
complished  through  moral  suasion  and  guile — when 
it  comes  to  guile,  Uncle  Beverley  is  almost  as  crafty 

256 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

as  a  white  rabbit! — and  in  the  end  he  agreed  to 
think  it  over. 

It  happened  that  we  had  guests  that  night,  so 
dinner  passed  without  allusion  to  Mr.  Gaveston,  and 
we  were  amicably  sipping  our  coffee  in  the  patio, 
when  who  should  appear  upon  the  scene  but  Mr. 
Tomlinson — Tomlinson,  the  one  and  only,  from 
whom  we  had  parted  almost  with  tears  in  Lima — 
as  ingenuous,  as  credulous,  as  naive  as  of  yore.  Mr. 
Ames  ordered  drinkables  and  smokables  for  him, 
and  the  talk  jogged  along. 

All  at  once,  something  having  been  said  about  the 
west  coast,  Mr.  Tomlinson  exclaimed: 

"  Oh,  I  say!  You  remember  that  chap  Gaveston ? 
Always  had  such  a  lot  to  say  about  his  family  and 
that,  you  know?  I  met  a  man  in  Antofogasta  who 
knows  him — says  he  saw  him  there  recently — and 
my  word!  He  turns  out  to  be  a  regular  bounder! 
I  mean  to  say,  he's  a  sort  of  remittance  man  or  some 
thing  of  the  kind,  you  know.  I  don't  know  just 
what  he  is,  but  at  any  rate,  he's  been  kicked  out 
at  home.  Awful  cad,  that  chap,  you  know!" 

Well!  Talk  about  bombs — if  that  wasn't  a  bolt 
from  the  blue !  Berenice  flashed  out  that  she  didn't 
believe  a  word  of  it,  before  Uncle  Beverley  glared  her 
into  silence,  the  while  he  ponderously  voiced  his 
own  long-cherished  and  deep-seated  distrust  of  Mr. 
Gaveston,  who  was,  he  said,  "too  versatile — too 
volatile — too — er — brilliant — ah — to  be  solid." 

When  the  guests  had  all  departed,  Berenice  swept 
into  our  little  sala,  demanding: 

"Why  didn't  you  stop  that  man?  Why  did  you 

257 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

let  him  say  those  horrid  things?"  Before  I  could 
reply,  Uncle  Beverley  tapped  on  our  door  and 
entered. 

"There!  You  see?"  he  launched  at  me.  "This 
man  is  all — and  more — than  I — er — suspected.  You 
will  oblige  me,  Mrs.  Pomeroy,  by  refusing  to — ah — 
receive  this  person  as  long  as  we — ah — remain  in 
South  America.  Berenice,  you  will  never — ah — at 
any  time  or  under  any — ah — circumstances,  recog 
nize  this  man  Gaveston  again.  You  understand?" 

Berenice  disdained  reply,  but  I  weakly  murmured 
that  I  understood,  and  Jove  withdrew.  For  a  mo 
ment  she  stood  looking  at  the  door  behind  which  he 
had  vanished,  and  then  turned  to  me,  her  chin  up. 

"You  see?"  she  cried.  "They  make  all  the  de 
cisions — they  issue  their  orders — and  I  am  expected 
to  obey!  All  my  life  it's  been  like  that!  They 
have  bought  me  every  silly  trinket  I  happened  to 
fancy,  but  the  things  I  really  cared  about  —  the 
studies  I  took — the  people  I  knew — do  you  think  I 
have  ever  had  any  choice  in  those  ?  Never !  It  has 
been  'don't — don't — don't,'  until  I'm  mad  with  it! 
They  have  decided — and  I  have  obeyed !  Now  I  am 
through  obeying  them!  Let  them  make  the  most 
of  the  next  few  days,  for  I  shall  be  legally  of  age  on 
the  fifteenth  of  June,  and  after  that  I  will  never  obey 
any  one  of  them  again!" 

I  tried  to  calm  her  a  little,  but  she  was  a  very 
whirlwind  of  flame. 

"  Don't  you  try  to  stop  me  now!  You  said  I  had 
the  right  to  live  my  own  life — you  know  you  did ! — 
as  my  own  spirit  demanded.  Those  were  your  very 

258 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

words!  And  that  none  of  them  had  the  right  to 
dictate  to  me.  And  I'm  going  to  do  it!  I  hadn't 
meant  to  tell  any  one  until  after  the  fifteenth — but 
you've  been  kind  to  me — you  are  the  only  friend  I 
ever  had — nobody  else  ever  understood  except — 
nobody  else  ever  understood,"  she  corrected  herself, 
but  I  knew  what  name  had  been  on  her  lips,  "  and  I 
trust  you  to  stand  by  me.  I'm  going  to  marry 
Cecil  Gaveston  just  as  soon  as  I  am  of  age — either 
in  Rio  or  in  London!" 

Oh,  Marion!  She'll  do  it,  too!  She'll  marry  him 
now  in  spite  of  anything! 

I  asked  her  whether  she  had  promised  this  to  Mr. 
Gaveston,  and  she  said  that  she  had  not,  but  that 
she  had  fully  made  up  her  mind  and  should  tell  him 
the  next  day.  I  told  her  that  while  it  would  doubt 
less  be  very  easy  for  him  to  prove  his  entire  inno 
cence  of  the  charges  brought  against  him  by  Mr. 
Tomlinson,  I  thought  he  would  respect  her  more  if 
she  waited  with  dignity  until  he  had  done  so,  and 
she  all  but  snapped  her  fingers  in  my  face. 

"Did  he  wait  until  there  was  a  steamer  to  bring 
him  to  me?  No!  He  came  straight  across  the 
Cordillera!  They  told  him  he  would  never  get 
here  alive — but  he  came — to  see  me!  And  if  I  am 
going  to  marry  him,  I  am  going  to  trust  him!  These 
trumpery  charges — what  do  they  amount  to?  A 
lot  of  senseless  gossip  mongered  by  men  like  that 
silly  little  Tomlinson!  But  it  will  serve  Uncle 
Beverley!  He'll  believe  it — he'll  believe  anything, 
and  so  will  all  the  rest  of  them!  Anything  to  ham 
per  and  fetter  me  and  keep  me  a  slave!  I  shall  pay 

259 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

no  attention  to  any  of  it !  I  shall  marry  Mr.  Gaves- 
ton!" 

Then,  Marion,  I  did  the  thing  that  all  these 
weeks  I  have  been  telling  myself  I  wouldn't, 
shouldn't,  couldn't  do — I  asked  what  about  Perry 
Waite,  and  she  laughed  at  me,  demanding  what  I 
thought  Perry  Waite  was  to  her,  "or  I  to  him?" 
she  added.  I  just  stood  and  looked  at  her,  and 
after  a  moment  she  laughed  again,  and  flung  out : 

"Perry  Waite  is  engaged  to  one  of  my  best 
friends." 

I  said  I  didn't  believe  it,  and  she  ran  into  her 
room,  returning  with  a  letter  which  she  thrust  at 
me,  bidding  me  " read  that!"  It  was  from  her  most 
intimate  girl  friend,  and  was  an  indignant  announce 
ment  that  young  Waite  was  engaged  to  one  Meta 
Carstairs.  She  said  that  the  engagement  had  not 
been  announced,  but  that  Perry  spent  most  of  his 
spare  time  at  the  Carstairs',  and  that  she  had  over 
heard  Meta's  mother  telling  a  friend  in  a  tea-room 
somewhere  that  it  was  all  settled  now.  Mr.  Car- 
stairs  had  objected  at  first,  his  wife  said,  largely 
because  of  young  Waite's  extreme  youth,  but  Meta 
had  begged  so  hard  that  he  had  finally  yielded, 
partly  because  he  never  could  deny  Meta  anything, 
and  partly  because  the  boy  was  really  such  a  clever 
boy.  Mrs.  Carstairs  also  stated  that  nothing  was 
to  be  said  about  the  matter  for  some  time,  for  vari 
ous  reasons. 

Well,  I  admit  that  staggered  me.  It  is  evidently 
another  case  of  a  heart  caught  on  the  rebound,  but 
I  wish  this  one  had  been  a  little  less  resilient.  It 

260 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

took  the  last  weapon  out  of  my  hands  and  I  must 
have  shown  it,  for  Berenice  stood  there  and  laughed 
at  me  like  a  young  satyr,  misery  looking  through 
the  eyes  of  her. 

There  was  absolutely  nothing  left  for  me  to  say 
at  that  moment,  so  I  kissed  her  and  went  to  bed. 
In  the  middle  of  the  night,  I  went  into  her  room  and 
found  her  awake,  as  I  knew  I  should.  I  sat  on  the 
edge  of  her  bed  until  daylight — but  I  won  the  single 
point  for  which  I  fought,  which  was  delay. 

I  told  her  that  while  her  family  could  not  possibly 
prevent  this  marriage,  she  knew  that  they  would 
object  to  it  violently,  and  she  must  also  see  that  her 
uncle  and  I  would  never  be  forgiven  for  our  part 
in  it. 

"I  don't  see  why,"  she  protested.  "You  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  You  did  everything  you  pos 
sibly  could  to  prevent  it,  didn't  you?  Only  you 
did  recognize  that  I  was  a  human  being!" 

I  asked  her  whether  she  thought  any  of  that  would 
weigh  heavily  with  her  father  and  mother  after  she 
had  married  Gaveston — and  she  was  silent.  Then 
I  told  her  of  my  long  friendhsip  and  great  love  for 
her  mother,  and  the  grief  it  would  be  to  me  when 
that  friendship  should  be  broken  off,  or  at  least 
clouded,  as  it  must  be  now.  I  reminded  her  that  I 
had  stood  by  her  in  her  crisis  and  that  I  still  stood 
by  her,  and  in  return  I  asked  just  one  thing  of  her. 
I  asked  her  to  go  home  from  this  trip  absolutely  un 
pledged,  to  let  me  feel  that  in  that  one  small  par 
ticular,  at  least,  I  had  kept  faith  with  her  mother. 
At  the  same  time,  I  undertook  to  persuade  Uncle 

261 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Beverley  to  let  her  see  Gaveston  frequently  while 
we  remain  in  Buenos  Aires,  but  never  alone. 

Finally,  she  promised,  and  she  will  keep  the 
promise — if  she  can.  But  she  is  only  human,  and 
very  young,  and  Gaveston  is  as  clever  as  the  devil 
himself — and  as  determined.  And  that  is  where  we 
stand. 

The  next  morning  I  told  some  of  this  to  Uncle 
Beverley,  who  is  almost  crushed  under  the  situa 
tion,  and  talked  him  over  to  my  plan.  Then  we 
cabled  to  Helen  to  meet  us  in  Rio,  and  we  have  her 
reply  that  she  will,  although  Berenice  is  to  know 
nothing  about  it  until  her  mother  arrives.  We  are 
going  to  try  what  a  shock  will  do — but  I  haven't 
much  hope.  The  mischief  is  done. 

There  are  a  lot  of  things  I  want  to  tell  you  about, 
but  I  have  no  heart  for  it  now.  Perhaps  I'll  write 
again  before  we  sail  on  the  twelfth,  or  on  the  steamer. 


At  Sea,  June 

Here  we  are,  north  bound  again,  and  once  more 
on  the  edge  of  the  tropics,  much  to  my  joy.  Deliver 
me  from  these  semi-tropical  climates,  where  nobody 
thinks  it's  worth  while  to  make  a  fire  because  it 
never  snows! 

Buenos  Aires — and  Santiago,  too — are  like  San 
Francisco  in  that  respect,  except  that  down  here, 
in  most  cases,  they  haven't  even  fireplaces  in  the 
houses,  and  the  resident  Americans  spend  the  win 
ter  carrying  oil-stoves  from  one  room  to  another 

262 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

and  hovering  over  them.  As  the  rooms  are  all  at 
least  sixteen  feet  high,  one  oil-stove  doesn't  make  a 
noticeable  impression  upon  the  circumambient  chill. 

By-the-way,  the  Argentines  insist  upon  calling 
us  North  Americans,  and  it  makes  one  feel  like  a 
red  Indian.  I  have  known  some  very  delightful 
Indians,  but  somehow,  "  North  American "  suggests 
war-paint  and  feathers,  which  are  not  my  ordinary 
wear. 

We  didn't  have  much  cold  weather  while  we  were 
in  Santiago,  but  in  our  "steam-heated"  hotel  in 
Buenos  Aires  we  used  to  take  our  coffee  in  the  patio, 
where  the  thermometer  registered  fifty-eight  if  it 
was  warm,  and  then  fly  up-stairs  to  spend  the  rest 
of  the  evening  sitting  on  our  toy  radiator,  which 
was  so  small  that  we  had  to  take  turns.  During  the 
day,  from  eleven  to  four  or  five,  there  was  never 
any  steam  in  the  pipes — in  deference  to  the  afore 
said  semi-tropical  climate— and  when  it  rained,  as 
it  did  much  of  the  time,  we  wrapped  the  drapery  of 
our  couches  about  us,  like  the  North  Americans  they 
called  us,  and  imbibed  quarts  of  tea,  made  over  a 
spirit-lamp,  to  keep  warm.  I'll  take  my  tropics  full 
size,  please,  or  not  at  all. 

Apropos  of  "  the  cup  that  cheers,"  a  favorite  drink 
in  several  of  these  countries  is  a  sort  of  tea  made 
from  an  aromatic  herb — non-intoxicating  and  said 
to  be  healthful — popularly  called  mat6.  It  is  brewed 
in  a  cup,  generally  made  from  a  gourd  but  occasion 
ally  of  beautifully  wrought  silver,  and  is  sucked 
through  a  silver  thing  not  unlike  our  hollow-stem 
med  lemonade-spoon,  except  that  it  has  a  strainer 

263 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

over  the  spoon.  In  native  families  this  becomes  a 
sort  of  loving-cup,  and  passes  from  lip  to  lip  around 
the  circle,  which  is  sometimes  trying,  especially  if 
you  have  happened  to  see  the  servant  taking  a  pre 
liminary  pull  at  it  before  she  brought  it  in.  Even 
if  you  did,  there  is  no  help  for  you,  for  it  is  the 
quintessence  of  bad  manners  to  refuse  to  partake. 

Speaking  of  Americans  down  here,  don't  let  any 
of  your  ambitious  young  friends  come  to  Buenos 
Aires  under  the  impression  that  it  is  a  sort  of  com 
mercial  El  Dorado,  where  high-salaried  positions  are 
to  be  Jaad  for  the  asking,  North  American  labor  in 
demand,  and  Spanish  to  be  "picked  up"  in  six 
months.  Don't  you  believe  a  word  of  it!  Spanish, 
which  is  absolutely  essential  in  business  here,  is, 
like  any  other  language,  easy  after  you  have  learned 
it,  but  the  American  who  speaks  it  well  enough  to 
make  him  of  great  value  to  his  employer  at  the  end 
of  six  months  is  the  exception.  Unfortunately,  as 
a  people  we  are  not  linguists. 

For  the  rest,  the  high  prices  asked  for  food,  lodg 
ing  and  clothes  make  Buenos  Aires  a  more  expen 
sive  city  to  live  in  than  New  York,  and  young 
women  who  contemplate  seeking  employment  here 
should  be  informed  that  the  ideals  prevailing  in  the 
Argentine  capital  more  nearly  resemble  those  of 
Paris  than  those  of  any  city  in  the  United  States. 

The  Argentine  Republic,  like  our  own,  has  in 
vited  immigration,  and  its  capital  city  has  been 
widely  advertised  as  a  great  and  growing  commercial 
centre,  which  it  is.  In  consequence  the  Old  World  is 
sending  her  hordes  up  the  Rio  de  la  Plata,  as  well  as 

264 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

through  The  Narrows,  and  as  is  too  often  the  case 
with  us,  they  are  coming  unprepared,  with  little  or 
no  knowledge  of  the  language  of  the  country,  and 
consequently  unfitted  for  any  but  the  meanest  labor. 
We  are  accustomed  to  that  sight  at  home,  but 
picture  to  yourself  an  American  boy  or  girl  in  a 
foreign  city  in  that  plight,  and  then  you  will  realize 
why  American  residents  here,  much  as  they  hunger 
for  their  own  people,  say: 

"Tell  them  to  learn  Spanish  and  bring  money 
enough  to  get  home  on,  or  else  to  stay  away  from 
South  America." 

It  is  very  interesting  to  the  observant  American — 
North  American,  I  mean! — to  note  the  differences 
— and  the  likenesses — of  two  cosmopolitan  peoples, 
both  resulting  from  the  grafting  of  European  buds 
in  the  one  case  upon  Spanish  and  Indian  and 
in  the  other  upon  Anglo-Saxon  stock.  We,  as  a 
people,  have  much  in  common  with  the  Argentines . 
In  them,  keeping  always  in  mind  that  fundamental 
difference  in  parent  stock,  we  see  oursel's  as  ithers 
saw  us  a  few  years  ago — and  still  see  us  in  spots, 
with  a  wealth  so  great  and  so  new  that  we  didn't 
quite  know  what  to  do  with  it. 

It  is  a  very  wholesome  thing  for  us  to  come  down 
here  to  sit  awhile  in  contemplation  and  to  think  a 
little  bit.  Among  other  things,  it  is  salutary  for  us 
to  learn  that  "there  are  others,"  which  we  are  some 
times  prone  to  question,  and  that  if  there  are  things 
about  them  of  which  the  Anglo-Saxon  in  us  is  im 
patient,  there  are  things  about  us  from  which  the 
courteous  Latin  in  them  shrinks.  Also,  though  we 

265 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

may  be  a  step  or  two  ahead  of  them  in  some  respects, 
we  must  acknowledge  that  they  are  some  steps 
ahead  of  us  in  others. 

I  have  already  spoken  of  their  clean  streets.  The 
tram-car  regulations,  also,  would  interest  the  dwell 
ers  in  our  large  cities.  There  is  no  overloading  of 
cars  here.  When  all  the  seats  are  filled,  a  sign  to 
that  effect  is  hung  out,  and  no  more  passengers  are 
taken  until  vacancies  occur.  That's  fine,  isn't  it? 
Our  aggrieved,  strap-hanging  New  Yorkers  and 
Chicagoans  would  like  that — when  they  were  in  the 
car.  The  other  side  of  the  story  is  that  at  night, 
during  the  rush  hours,  no  matter  what  your  haste 
or  your  fatigue,  no  matter  how  inclement  the 
weather,  you  may  stand  indefinitely  on  a  corner  and 
see  car  after  car  pass,  not  one  person  standing,  and 
that  little  sign,  "  Complete, "  bars  your  entrance. 
People  here  take  that  very  calmly,  but  I'd  like  to 
see  the  average  New  Yorker  under  those  circum 
stances! 

Then  there  is  La  Prensa,  a  newspaper  which  is 
not  only  the  equal  journalistically  of  its  best  con 
temporaries  elsewhere,  but  which  occupies  the  fin 
est  newspaper  building  in  the  world.  Mrs.  Rankin 
knows  some  of  the  Powers  That  Be  there,  as  she 
knows  almost  everybody  of  any  consequence  all 
over  this  continent,  and  she  introduced  Mr.  Ames 
to  one  of  the  managers,  who  took  our  party  over 
the  building  himself. 

I  do  not  quite  understand  the  situation  between 
Uncle  Beverley  and  the  promoter  lady,  by-the-way, 
but  certainly  a  change  has  come  o'er  the  spirit  of 

266 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

his  dream,  though  the  complexion  of  hers  remains 
unchanged.  To  be  sure,  she  has  been  long  enough 
in  South  America  to  have  mastered  all  the  subtle 
arts  used  in  creating  and  maintaining  a  permanently 
glowing  complexion,  as  her  own  testifies. 

Anyway,  though  in  Buenos  Aires  she  was  coy  and 
ingratiating  and  sympathetic  still,  it  all  rolled  off 
Mr.  Ames  like  water  off  a  duck's  back.  He  was  just 
as  courteous,  just  as  attentive,  just  as  prolixly  and 
ponderously  complimentary  as  ever  when  she  was 
about,  but  there  was  an  indefinable  aloofness  that 
was  new  in  his  manner  toward  her,  and  as  far  as  I 
know,  he  never  sought  her  except  when  etiquette 
demanded  that  he  should.  If  she  had  been  the 
man  and  he  the  woman,  I  should  have  said  that  he 
had  refused  her  and  was  trying  to  soften  the  blow — 
which,  of  course,  is  absurd  and  impossible  under  the 
circumstances. 

Perhaps  her  spell  was  broken  during  the  long, 
dreary  passage  through  the  Strait.  He  told  me 
that  he  had  spent  much  time  in  thought,  and  had 
seen  many  things  in  a  new  light.  Perhaps  she  was 
one  of  them.  Or  possibly  Berenice  pointed  out  a 
few  of  the  artificial  spots  on  the  leopard.  Or  did 
the  lady  herself  take  that  one  fatal  step  too  far  and 
pass  the  line  that  every  man  sets  for  himself  as  to 
how  far  a  woman  may  and  may  not  go  ?  That  is  a 
dim  and  uncertain  boundary  which  has  tripped  up 
many  a  woman  who  had  no  particularly  definite  lines 
of  her  own. 

Probably  I  shall  never  know  what  brought  about 
the  change,  but  at  any  rate,  all  at  once  the  terror 

267 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

was  stripped  from  the  Bandersnatch  in  my  night 
mare,  and  I  saw  that  she  was  only  a  clever,  merce 
nary,  rather  vulgar,  wholly  pitiful  little  woman,  who 
might  have  gone  very  far  in  the  right  direction  if 
she  had  not  chosen  a  more  devious  path. 

Still,  when  it  comes  to  that,  I  wonder  whether 
anybody  ever  deliberately  chooses  a  devious  path? 
Don't  you  suppose  everybody  would  rather  go 
straight  than  crooked?  Or  has  the  winding  road 
the  same  fascination  for  certain  people  in  morals 
that  it  has  for  me  in  nature  ?  Do  they  always  mean 
to  turn  around  and  go  back  after  they  have  seen 
what  lies  beyond  the  next  curve? 

Anyway,  so  far  as  we  are  concerned,  the  Bander- 
snatch  is  harmless  now,  because  she  is  powerless. 
This  was  first  forcibly  borne  in  upon  me  the  day  we 
went  through  the  Prensa  building.  She  constantly 
called  Mr.  Ames'  attention  to  this  or  that  detail, 
in  her  caressing,  cajoling  little  way,  and  lingered 
persistently  behind  the  rest  of  us,  trying  to  re-estab 
lish  her  sovereignty  over  him,  but  it  was  of  no  use. 
The  flesh  was  very  polite  to  her,  but  the  spirit  was 
off  on  another  trail — and  a  very  distant  one,  I  should 
judge. 

This  may  have  been  due,  in  part,  to  his  great  and 
amazed  interest  in  what  we  were  seeing.  That  is 
a  wonderful  place,  Marion !  In  addition  to  the  most 
perfect  accommodations  for  the  staff  of  the  paper, 
including  baths  and  a  restaurant,  there  is  main 
tained  there  a  medical  department,  equipped  with 
the  most  modern  apparatus,  where  scores  of  poor 
people  are  treated  by  the  best  physicians  and  sur- 

268 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

geons  in  the  city.  A  good  lawyer  is  retained  at  the 
expense  of  the  paper,  to  give  legal  advice  to  people 
who  have  no  money  to  pay  for  it,  and  there  is  a  fine 
reference  library  free  to  the  public.  In  an  exquisite 
little  theatre  and  concert-room  entertainments  are 
sometimes  given,  and  there  is  a  large  suite  of  rooms, 
bedrooms,  baths,  boudoir,  reception  and  dining 
rooms,  which  La  Prensa  places  at  the  disposal  of 
distinguished  guests. 

No  attempt  anywhere  in  this  building  to  dazzle 
one.  Everything  is  the  best  of  its  kind ;  everything, 
from  the  press-room  to  the  theatre,  that  can  be 
beautiful  is  beautiful,  and  it  is  all  so  delightfully, 
restfully  harmonious.  It  is  an  enterprise  that  the 
greatest  city  in  the  world  might  be  proud  of,  and  it 
is  said  to  be  maintained  because  the  owner  of  the 
paper  wishes  to  share  with  the  people  the  benefits 
of  the  great  wealth  that  came  to  him  from  them. 

Even  Mr.  Gaveston,  who  was  with  us  and  who  is 
still  amused  that  I  find  anything  to  admire  in  these 
"crude"  countries,  found  nothing  to  cavil  at  in 
the  Prensa  building — except  the  motive  behind  the 
paper's  activities.  Of  course,  he  refused  to  admit 
for  a  moment  that  it  was  anything  but  good  ad 
vertising.  Don't  you  just  stand  around  in  awe  and 
admiration  of  a  man  who  is  always  sure  the  other 
fellow's  motives  are  sordid  ?  It  naturally  inspires 
you  with  confidence  in  his  own,  doesn't  it? 

The  Gaveston  situation  remains  practically  un 
changed.  He  was  with  us  a  good  deal  those  last 
days,  and  the  very  sight  of  him  was  a  thorn  in  poor 
Uncle  Beverley's  flesh.  Mr.  Ames  moved  heaven 

269 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

and  earth — or  as  much  of  it  as  he  could  get  a  lever 
age  on  at  this  distance  and  in  the  short  time  he  had 
— to  discover  whether  Tomlinson's  story  had  any 
foundation  of  truth,  but  he  could  learn  little,  and 
that  little  was  neutral. 

Cecil  Osmund  Leslie  Gaveston  is  the  youngest 
child  and  second  son  of  John  Mandeville  Gaveston, 
Esq.,  of  Surrey,  and  the  grandson,  on  the  maternal 
side,  of  Sir  George  Hervey.  The  family  is  well 
known  and  of  high  standing.  The  elder  son,  Cecil's 
brother,  married  a  Lady  Somebody-or-other,  and 
both  the  sisters  have  married  well.  It  is  under 
stood  that  Cecil  was  rather  wild  in  his  youth,  but 
nothing  actually  to  his  discredit  was  learned,  neither 
was  there  any  intimation  that  he  had  been  "kicked 
out  at  home,"  as  Mr.  Tomlinson  stated.  Gaveston 
himself  admits  that  he  quarrelled  violently  with  his 
brother  several  years  ago  and  left  home  in  a  tem 
per,  since  which  relations  with  his  family  have  been 
rather  strained,  but  says  that  their  feeling  is  quite 
cordial  now,  and  denies  with  emphasis  that  he  was 
at  any  time  in  bad  odor  with  them. 

Nevertheless,  I  think  he  redoubled  his  efforts 
either  to  make  Berenice  marry  him  at  once  or 
promise  to  do  so  in  Rio.  I  have  not  permitted  him 
to  see  her  alone,  but  neither  have  I  thought  it  wise 
to  give  her  an  impression  that  I  did  not  trust  her, 
so  they  have  had  occasional  opportunity  for  a  quiet 
chat  under  my  eye  but  relieved  of  my  ear.  During 
one  of  these  I  heard  Berenice  say,  rather  sharply: 

"Certainly  not!  Why,  I  promised  Mrs.  Pomeroy, 
Don't  you  understand?  I  promised!" 

270 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

I  did  not  hear  his  reply,  but  she  drew  back,  look 
ing  at  him  rather  curiously,  and  he  apparently  made 
some  hasty  explanation  which  seemed  to  satisfy  her. 

It  took  considerable  manoeuvring  to  prevent  his 
accompanying  us  on  this  voyage,  instead  of  follow 
ing  on  the  next  ship,  as  is  now  the  plan.  I  began 
an  attempt  to  show  her  that  it  would  be  in  better 
taste  for  him  not  to  see  her  after  we  left  Buenos 
Aires  until  she  was  with  her  parents  again,  which 
would  be,  at  best,  but  a  few  weeks;  but  at  the  first 
suggestion  of  this  her  chin  went  up  and  mutiny  was 
imminent,  so  I  subsided. 

I  did  succeed  in  convincing  her,  however,  that  it 
was  hardly  fair  to  her  uncle  and  me,  under  the 
circumstances,  to  give  the  people  at  home  an  im 
pression,  no  matter  what  we  might  say  to  the  con 
trary,  that  we  were  actually  granting  Mr.  Gaveston 
privileges  in  his  wooing  that  were  not  ours  to  be 
stow.  I  said  that  it  would  look  as  if  we  were  break 
ing  faith  with  her  parents  in  every  way,  which 
seemed  to  impress  her. 

A  day  or  two  afterward  she  asked  me  to  give  her 
my  word  that  when  Mr.  Gaveston  followed  on  the 
next  steamer,  he  would  still  find  her  in  Rio,  so  evi 
dently  he  told  her  we  meant  to  spirit  her  away. 
I  reassured  her  on  this  point,  but  I  fancy  he  ques 
tioned  my  honesty  in  the  matter — as,  being  Gaves 
ton,  he  naturally  would  do — because  for  a  day  or 
two  her  manner  toward  him  was  cool  and  she 
seemed  to  be  examining  him  rather  critically. 

At  any  rate,  he  certainly  had  to  exert  himself  to 
an  unusual  degree  to  recover  ground  he  had  lost  in 

18  271 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

some  way,  and  he  was  never  more  insidiously  fas 
cinating — but  he  relinquished  his  plan  of  taking  this 
ship. 

We  were  late  in  leaving  Buenos  Aires,  and  as  we 
swung  out  into  the  stream,  Berenice,  waving  her 
hand  to  Gaveston  and  the  group  of  people  assembled 
to  see  us  off,  dropped  overboard  a  bunch  of  orchids 
he  had  given  her — a  particularly  appropriate  offer 
ing,  under  the  circumstances,  I  thought.  Not  sweets 
to  the  sweet,  but  parasites  from  a  parasite.  She 
tried  to  catch  them,  but  they  went  down  to  a  watery 
grave — and  we  went  down  the  river. 

The  next  morning  we  were  lying  off  Montevideo, 
when  who  should  walk  into  the  dining-room  while 
we  were  at  breakfast  but  Cecil  Osmund  Leslie — a 
florist's  box  under  his  arm!  I  suspected  treachery 
and  must  have  showed  it,  for  he  laughed  a  little, 
and  said: 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  Mrs.  Pomeroy.  I'm  going 
ashore  again.  I  just  ran  down  on  the  night-boat 
to  replace  those  flowers." 

Cecil  must  have  received  a  remittance  lately! 
Berenice  was  pleased,  of  course,  and  has  worked  up 
something  resembling  tenderness  over  the  affair — 
a  sort  of  near-sentiment,  mercerized.  Poor,  fool 
ish,  unhappy,  headstrong  child! 

Just  before  we  left  Buenos  Aires,  the  American 
mail  came.  Berenice  had  another  letter  from  her 
friend,  but  the  family  had  gone  to  the  mountains 
and  there  was  nothing  new  about  the  Waite-Car- 
stairs  engagement. 

I  had  perfectly  frantic  letters  from  Helen.  In 
272 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

one  sentence  she  demanded  to  know  why  I  didn't 
put  Berenice  under  my  arm  and  carry  her  home  at 
once,  and  in  the  next  she  assured  me  that  no  matter 
what  happened,  she  would  always  remember  that 
Beverley  had  undertaken  to  look  after  Berenice  and 
would  hold  him  alone  responsible.  I  wonder  if  she 
will?  Poor  Beverley! 

On  one  page  she  is  positive  that  I  exaggerate  the 
danger  from  Gaveston,  as  Berenice  mentions  him 
not  at  all  and  Beverley  only  casually,  and  on  an 
other  she  wonders  that  I  don't  see  the  necessity 
of  opening  Beverley's  eyes  to  this  intriguing  Eng 
lishman's  obvious  designs.  Of  course,  Beverley 
is  a  little  positive  in  his  opinions,  she  says,  but  I 
have  so  much  tact  (!),  and  certainly,  unless  I  am 
quite  blind,  I  must  see  that  something  ought  to  be 
done.  And  in  any  event,  she  cannot  understand 
why  I  am  apparently  so  entirely  complacent  about 
Blakeney. 

Also,  she  is  up  in  arms  about  "that  Rankin  wom 
an,"  as  she  calls  her.  Berenice — mischievous  mon 
key! — wrote  a  few  indefinite  but  pregnant  lines 
about  her  uncle's  devotion  to  the  lady,  and  appar 
ently  set  the  whole  family  by  the  ears.  I  asked  her 
whether  she  had  really  thought,  as  her  mother's 
letter  seemed  to  indicate,  that  her  uncle  wanted  to 
marry  Mrs.  Rankin,  and  she  turned  an  amused  and 
scornful  glance  on  me. 

' '  Marry !"  quoth  she.  ' '  At  his  age  ?"  You  would 
have  thought  him  in  his  dotage. 

"Well — people  do,  sometimes,"  quoth  I,  meekly. 
"He's  not  so  very  old  —  only  about  fifty."  She 

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THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

sniffed.  "Then  why,"  I  inquired,  "did  you  write 
about  it  as  you  evidently  did?" 

"How?"  she  asked,  very  innocently.  At  that,  I 
simply  looked  at  her,  and  presently  she  laughed. 
"Oh,  I  thought  I'd  let  them  see  what  a  mesalliance 
might  be."  Imp! 

But  evidently  she  never  saw  the  real  danger  at 
all.  I  found  this  hard  to  believe,  and  pressed  mv 
inquiry  further,  whereupon  she  thoughtfully  ad 
mitted  that  of  course  she  might  have  been  a  little 
alarmed  concerning  the  outcome,  if  Mrs.  Rankin 
had  been  young  enough  to  be  really  attractive. 
Mrs.  Rankin,  my  dear,  is  about  your  age  and  mine — 
though  probably  a  little  younger  than  either  of  us. 

Berenice  certainly  succeeded  in  rousing  the  family, 
though.  Helen  wants  to  know  whether  I  can't  "do 
something."  Can't  I  see  what  she  has  always  known 
— that  poor,  dear  Beverley  is  just  the  man  to  fall  a 
victim  to  some  siren's  wiles?  Can't  I  set  up  a 
counter-irritation,  even  if  it  comes  to  nothing  ?  She 
is  sure  I  am  clever  enough  and  attractive  enough — 
etc.,  etc.  Then,  Marion  dear,  she  confesses  that 
she  and  Dick  have  been  building  air-castles — family 
air-castles,  with  me  as  chatelaine!  I  am  sure  this 
is  all  quite  spontaneous,  for  certainly  Mr.  Ames  never 
confided  in  them,  but  Helen  says  they  did  so  hope — 
And  they  would  be  so  glad  if  only —  And  so  on.  You 
know  her  too  well  to  need  details.  But  even  if  that 
is  impossible,  and  I  can  never  be  a  sister  to  them, 
can't  I  do  something  to  protect  poor  Beverley? 

At  any  rate,  I  did  do  that.  I  am  glad  you  ap 
proved  of  the  policy  I  pursued  in  that  connection. 

274 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

It  would  have  comforted  me  could  I  have  known 
at  the  time  that  you  saw  the  thing  as  I  did.  Many 
people  wouldn't. 

There  are  a  lot  of  things  in  your  last  letters  that 
need  reply,  but  I  have  gossiped  along  in  hap 
hazard  fashion,  and  now  I  must  dress  for  dinner. 
We  are  on  a  real  British  ship,  with  immaculate 
decks,  clean  cabins  and  bath-rooms,  food  without 
flavor,  meats  swimming  in  gravy,  and  stewards  who 
say  "  'k  you"  every  time  they  venture  within  speak 
ing  distance.  Incidentally,  it  is  the  crack  ship  of 
the  line,  and  has  six  or  seven  decks,  electric  fans  in 
every  state-room,  an  elevator — I  beg  its  pardon! — 
a  lift— and  a  laundry. 

The  crowd  on  board  is  rather  interesting :  English 
bank-clerks,  who  have  served  five  years  out  here  and 
earned  their  six  months'  leave;  families  from  the 
Argentine  "estancias" — ranchers,  in  other  words — 
going  "home"  for  the  end  of  the  English  summer; 
some  titled  Britons  who  came  out  for  the  cruise  and 
are  returning  by  the  same  ship;  a  few  counts  and 
countesses,  and  barons  and  baronesses,  and  an  Ex 
cellency  or  two;  a  man  who  writes  D.S.O.  after  his 
name;  a  Roman  Catholic  bishop,  in  black  cassock, 
golden  chains,  and  purple  stole  and  cap,  whose  face 
is  delicate,  and  whose  slender,  fine  hands  grace  the 
Episcopal  amathyst;  his  train  of  black-robed  clergy; 
and  a  good  many  Spanish-Americans.  We  shall  not 
be  with  them  long,  however,  as  we  expect  to  land 
at  Santos  to-morrow  and  go  to  Sao  Paulo  by  rail 
before  going  to  Rio. 

This  is  Berenice's  birthday — her  day  of  indepen- 

275 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

dence,  poor  child! — and  we  are  to  celebrate  it  duly 
to-night  with  cakes  and  ale.  Uncle  Beverley,  whose 
heart  is  heavy  within  him,  is  still  striving  to  uphold 
his  traditions  as  far  as  may  be,  and  Berenice  is  to 
have  the  cake  with  candles  and  the  champagne  with 
which  a  coming  of  age  is  always  celebrated  in  the 
Ames  family. 

I  am  getting  very  sorry  for  Mr.  Ames,  Marion. 
He  never  should  have  been  put  in  this  position. 
What  did  he  know  of  girls — especially  of  a  girl  like 
Berenice  ?  He  didn't  want  to  assume  the  burden — 
he  protested  against  it — but  they  forced  it  upon  him, 
and  they  didn't  fit  it  to  his  back.  Small  wonder 
that  he  has  sometimes  been  fussy  and  unreason 
able!  And  now  that  it  has  come  out  so  badly,  he 
will  get  most  of  the  cussing — and  I'll  catch  the 
overflow!  I  don't  know  whether  he  is  reproaching 
himself  or  not,  but  I  can  see  that  he  is  very  sad 
these  days,  though  he  bustles  about  a  lot  and  tries 
to  cover  it  up.  However  he  may  chafe  under  an 
noyance,  there  is  something  fine  about  the  way  this 
man  bears  personal  sorrow.  I  like  and  admire  him 
greatly  then. 

He  also  had  letters  from  Helen,  and  from  the  ex 
pression  of  his  face  as  he  read  them  I  fancy  she 
spared  him  less  than  she  did  me. 

Good  land!  It  has  just  occurred  to  me!  You 
don't  suppose  she  told  him  about  those  air-castles 
of  hers?  Poor  Uncle  Beverley! 

I  keep  wondering  wherein  I  have  failed  most; 
how  it  would  have  been  had  I  done  this,  and  whether 
the  outcome  would  have  been  happier  had  I  left 

276 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

that  undone — and  I  always  decide  that  it  would. 
Is  there  anything  so  maddening  as  hindsight?  And 
in  the  face  of  a  catastrophe  like  this,  the  reflection 
that  one  "meant  well"  adds  a  touch  of  fiendish 
mockery. 

I  think  Berenice  has  wondered  a  little  that  I  made 
no  attempt  to  dissuade  her  from  this  marriage,  or 
to  recall  the  ideals  by  which  I  influenced  her  in 
Santiago.  I  am  saving  all  my  strength  and  all  my 
ammunition  to  help  Helen  in  one  last,  desperate 
resistance  in  Rio.  Meanwhile,  Berenice  has  read  all 
the  Kipling  the  ship's  library  contains,  and  lures  the 
D.S.O.  man  into  long  disquisitions  about  life  in 
India. 

I  must  go  below  and  dress!  I  wish  you  were 
here.  The  sea  is  a  vast  blue  floor,  the  air  is  as  soft 
as  Paradise,  and  the  Southern  Cross — but  no  words 
of  mine  can  ever  make  you  see  and  feel  the  Southern 
Cross. 

Rio,  June  2oth. 

What  do  you  think  the  carking  care  would  be 
that  would  blind  my  eyes  to  beauty,  or  still  my  soul's 
response  to  sunshine  and  soft  air  and  color?  Cer 
tainly,  I  am  exceeding  sorrowful  these  days,  filled 
with  regret  and  self-accusation  and  foreboding,  and 
yet — how  I  have  enjoyed  certain  hours  during  the 
past  week!  Positively  and  actively  enjoyed  them! 

Not  that  there  hasn't  been  always  an  ache  some 
where,  and  the  clutching,  terrifying  sense  of  im 
pending  disaster,  but  just  the  same,  as  long  as  I 

277 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

live  and  the  world  is  beautiful,  I  shall  feel  it,  though 
doom  fall !  Even  at  this  distance  I  can  see  your  lips 
opening  for  the  obvious  retort,  which  is  that  until 
doom  has  fallen  I  never  really  believe,  down  in  my 
heart,  that  it  is  going  to — especially  if  the  sun  be 
shining  through  green  leaves. 

To  which  I  reply,  madame,  that  doom  has  been 
averted  just  as  many  times  by  smiles  as  it  has  by 
sackcloth,  and  then,  whatever  happens,  you've  had 
one  more  smile,  though  you  never  smile  again! 

I  dare  say  it  is  only  the  intoxication  of  the  tropics, 
but  to-day  I  have  hope.  Maybe,  if  Helen  is  wise 
and  tender  and  strong  enough,  she  can  still  work  a 
miracle — and  oh,  how  wise  and  tender  and  strong  a 
woman  ought  to  be  before  she  dares  to  become  a 
mother !  But  nothing  seems  impossible  in  Rio.  Helen 
will  arrive  to-morrow,  and  Gaveston  Wednesday. 

In  the  mean  time  we  have  seen  Santos  and  Sao 
Paulo — and  we  are  in  Rio!  But  that  comes  last. 

When  we  went  to  bed  Monday  night  the  lights  at 
the  mouth  of  the  river  were  in  sight,  and  next  morn 
ing  early  we  awoke  and  looked  out  upon  lush, 
tropical  banks.  By  the  time  we  got  on  deck  we 
were  off  the  Santos  docks — the  only  ones  on  the  east 
coast,  by-the-way,  except  those  at  Buenos  Aires, 
although  some  very  fine  ones  are  in  process  of  con 
struction  at  Rio.  However,  there  are  enough  at 
Santos  to  atone  for  all  deficiencies  elsewhere — some 
seven  miles  of  them,  we  were  told;  and  over  them 
goes,  in  a  year,  more  coffee  than  you  would  think 
the  whole  world  could  drink  in  a  decade.  Every 
where  one  gets  the  delicious  odor  of  it. 

278 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

We  had  planned  to  take  a  train  leaving  at  half- 
past  one  for  Sao  Paulo,  and  there  was  so  much  de 
lay  about  unloading  the  luggage  that  the  jumbled 
tiled  roofs,  green-clad  hills,  crooked  streets  and  gay 
color  of  Santos  ceased  to  have  charms  for  us.  Neither 
did  we  care  about  the  ceaseless  procession  of  men 
bearing  coffee-bags,  nor  the  liquid-eyed  venders  of 
everything  from  orchids  to  live  pigs.  We  wanted 
trunks ! 

We  said  so,  in  tones  of  varying  sweetness,  to  every 
body  who  would  listen  to  us  and  some  who  wouldn't, 
from  eight  o'clock  until  half -past  eleven.  Then  we 
adjourned  to  the  smoke-room  and  took  to  drink — 
long,  deep,  desperate  drinks  of  ginger -ale! — after 
which  we  resumed  the  struggle.  Finally  the  lug 
gage  was  all  bestowed  in  a  freight-car  and  trundled 
a  few  feet  down  the  dock  to  the  custom-house. 
"Aha!"  said  we.  "Now  we'll  be  off  in  a  few 
minutes." 

Then  we  came  into  collision — no,  he  wouldn't  do 
anything  as  violent  as  that.  We  came  into  remote 
contact  with  a  small,  erect,  pompous,  unsmiling, 
unbending,  pop-eyed  Brazilian  gentleman  who  rep 
resented  System.  To  him  we  addressed  ourselves, 
severally  and  collectively,  in  as  many  tongues  as 
we  could  summon  and  likewise  through  an  interpre 
ter,  and  he  imperturbably  directed  that  all  the  trunks 
be  stacked  up  in  one  huge  pile,  six  deep,  ours  at  the 
bottom. 

In  vain  we  expostulated,  argued,  gesticulated,  en 
treated,  showed  our  watches,  showed  the  railway 
time-table,  pointed  to  our  waiting  porters,  cussed 

279 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

and  discussed.  This  was  their  system.  When  every 
thing  else  in  the  freight-car  had  been  piled  on  top 
of  our  stuff,  we  indicated  where  it  was  buried,  and 
it  was  extricated  with  much  labor — and  incidentally 
at  some  expense — and  put  on  a  bench,  after  which 
came  all  the  red-tape  and  bother  of  the  customs 
inspection. 

This  over,  we  trotted  in  procession  down  the  street 
beside  a  hand-truck  laden  with  all  our  impedimenta, 
and  just  caught  the  train,  our  lunch,  consisting  of  a 
parcel  of  sandwiches  and  three  bottles  of  mineral 
water  bought  at  the  station,  in  our  hands. 

We  have  encountered  Brazilian  system  once  or 
twice  since,  but  this  is  a  very  fair  example  of  the 
way  it  works.  Before  I  leave  the  subject  of  lug 
gage,  I  will  mention  that  the  government  owns  the 
road  from  Sao  Paulo  to  Rio,  and  that  it  cost  us 
forty-five  dollars  gold  to  bring  our  five  trunks — 
three  of  them  small  cabin  affairs — from  that  city 
to  this,  a  journey  of  about  eleven  hours.  It  cost 
considerably  less  to  bring  us. 

The  road  from  Santos  to  Sao  Paulo,  by-the-way, 
is  a  marvel  of  construction,  and  has  the  reputation, 
I  believe,  of  being  the  best -built  railroad  in  the 
world.  It  is  not  very  long,  and  in  some  places  the 
grades  are  so  steep  that  cables  are  used  to  help  the 
engines;  but  it  is  enormously  profitable,  and  the 
English  company  owning  it  has  put  tremendous 
sums  into  its  road-bed  and  masonry.  The  protec 
tion  from  freshet  and  washout,  for  instance,  is  com 
plete,  almost  the  whole  of  the  double-tracked  road 
having  stone  or  tarred  brick  conduits,  not  only  be- 

280 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

side  the  rails,  but  up  into  the  hills  through  which 
they  run,  guiding  the  course  of  the  water  from  the 
time  it  begins  to  threaten.  I  even  saw  men  with 
brooms  along  the  way,  sweeping  dry  leaves  out  of 
these  conduits,  which  were  as  clean  as  a  kitchen 
floor. 

We  came  over  what  are  called  "the  new  tracks," 
which  are  said  to  have  cost  twelve  million  pounds — 
do  you  get  that  ? — before  they  were  ever  used.  The 
old  tracks,  the  ones  that  earned  the  twelve  millions, 
are  still  used  occasionally,  too.  All  this  out  of 
coffee. 

We  climbed  into  splendid  hills — and  until  I  saw 
them  I  did  not  realize  how  I  had  hungered  for  them 
— so  densely  covered  that  in  looking  across  a  canon 
or  down  from  a  height  upon  a  forest,  one  got  no 
sense  of  high  trees  because  one  couldn't  see  into 
them.  It  looked  like  thick  shrubbery.  A  courte 
ous  Brazilian  across  the  car,  who  saw  that  we  were 
strangers,  insisted  upon  our  taking  his  seat  when 
the  views  were  on  that  side,  and  explained  things  all 
the  way  up. 

We  had  been  told  that  there  was  no  very  good 
hotel  in  Sao  Paulo,  but  Mr.  Ames,  who  speaks  no 
Portuguese,  gave  our  driver  the  name  of  the  hostelry 
that  had  been  most  generally  recommended,  and  he 
rattled  us  through  a  much  larger  city  than  we  had 
expected  to  see,  past  a  plaza,  around  a  corner,  up  a 
little  hill,  through  an  imposing  gateway,  and  brought 
up  with  a  flourish  before  an  even  more  imposing 
facade. 

We  had  already  been  so  impressed  by  the  little 

281 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

We  had  seen  of  this  country  that  we  thought  very 
probably  this  wasn't  much  of  a  hotel  according  to 
Brazilian  standards,  but  it  certainly  looked  good  to 
us.  We  perked  up  and  alighted  from  our  hackney- 
coach  with  the  air  of  being  accustomed  to  a  foot 
man.  At  least,  Berenice  and  Uncle  Beverley  did, 
and  I  should  if  I  hadn't  at  that  moment  got  my 
eye  on  two  sentries  posted  at  the  door. 

"What  is  this  place?"  I  demanded  of  cabby,  in 
such  Spanish  as  I  have  mastered,  and  he  replied,  in 
Portuguese,  but  unmistakably: 

"The  palace  of  the  Governor,  senhora." 

Needless  to  say,  we  took  a  reef  in  our  tail  feathers 
and  followed  the  example  of  the  King  of  France  and 
his  twenty  thousand  men;  but  I  have  wondered 
ever  since  what  His  Excellency  the  Governor  would 
have  done  had  we  sent  in  our  luggage  and  requested 
rooms.  He  might  have  had  us  jailed,  but,  having 
experienced  the  Sao  Paulo  variety  of  Brazilian  hos 
pitality,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  he  would  have 
put  his  heels  together  and  bowed,  ordered  the  state 
apartments  prepared  for  our  use,  and  assured  us  that 
the  occasion  was  one  of  extraordinary  pleasure  for 
him.  That's  the  kind  of  people  they  are  in  Sao  Paulo. 

So  we  drove  through  the  imposing  gateway  and 
down  the  hill  and  around  the  corner  to  our  hotel, 
which  was  not  the  palace  of  the  Governor — or  of 
anybody  else!  However,  it  was  well  enough,  if  not 
exactly  what  one  would  call  luxurious.  And  except 
for  that  trifling  detail,  had  we  really  been  the  guests 
of  His  Excellency  we  could  not  have  been  treated 
with  more  distinguished  consideration. 

282 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

There  is  in  Sao  Paulo  a  Brazilian  gentleman  who 
has  bought  some  rather  expensive  machinery  of 
Ames  &  Ames,  and  naturally  Uncle  Beverley  called 
upon  him,  to  pay  his  respects  and  to  express  in 
person  the  firm's  appreciation  of  this  patronage. 
He  also  mentioned  casually  and  incidentally  that 
Berenice  and  I  were  with  him.  He  still  retains, 
by-the-bye,  that  manner  of  including  me  in  the 
family.  I  have  been  taken  into  the  inner  con 
fidence.  I  was  a  little  wary  for  a  time,  but  it  is 
evidently  not  dangerous,  and  I  think  Beverley  has 
definitely  made  up  his  mind  to  be  a  brother  to  me. 

Within  an  hour  after  this  call,  most  exquisite 
flowers  were  sent  to  us,  with  Senhor  Aveiro's  com 
pliments.  The  next  morning  he  came  in  his  French 
limousine  and  took  us  for  a  long  drive.  He  showed 
us  a  city  of  about  four  hundred  thousand  people, 
well  paved,  well  lighted,  having  fine  electric  tram 
lines,  good  bridges,  viaducts  and  public  buildings, 
hospitals  and  colleges.  I  know  of  few  cities  of  the 
size  at  home  that  are  so  well  equipped,  and  yet  how 
many  of  us — unless,  indeed,  we  are  interested  in 
coffee — ever  even  heard  of  Sao  Paulo? 

We  went  to  a  park,  which,  after  we  had  left  the 
pavilions  and  band-stand  near  the  entrance,  con 
sisted  simply  of  paths  cut  through  the  native  jungle. 
There  had  been  absolutely  no  attempt  at  "improve 
ment"  beyond  the  making  of  these  paths,  which  are 
sometimes  wide,  sometimes  narrow,  dipping  here, 
rising  there,  always  winding  and  always  walled  on 
either  side  by  huge,  orchid-grown,  vine-entwined 
trees,  or  tunnelled  through  soft  masses  of  feathery 

283 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

bamboo — everywhere  through  impenetrable  under 
brush. 

Mr.  Aveiro  told  us  of  a  young  Scotchman  whom 
he  recently  took  into  this  park,  and  who  looked  up 
at  the  blossoming  orchids,  wondered  how  they  got 
so  high  in  the  trees,  and  then  quaintly  answered 
himself : 

"  It  seems  as  if  God  must  just  have  been  here." 

Truly,  it  does  seem  in  these  tropical  forests  as  if 
one  had  at  last  touched  the  great,  warm,  palpitating 
heart  of  things. 

We  saw,  also,  several  other  beautiful  but  more 
conventional  parks,  with  lawns,  flowers,  ornamental 
shrubberies,  tennis  -  courts,  ball  -  grounds,  zoo,  and 
so  on. 

In  this  country  of  malignant  fevers  and  virulent 
diseases  it  is  an  offence  against  the  law  of  Sao 
Paulo  (the  State)  to  be  ill  at  home,  and  there  is  a 
well-equipped  hospital,  beautifully  located,  where 
rich  and  poor  alike  are  treated  free  at  the  expense 
of  the  State.  A  heavy  fine  is  imposed  for  an  at 
tempt  to  avoid  removal  to  this  hospital,  or  for  fail 
ure  to  report  illness — and  it  is  many  years  since 
Sao  Paulo  suffered  from  an  epidemic. 

In  this  connection  it  is  significant  that  the  houses 
there  are  not  huddled,  as  they  are  in  most  hot 
countries,  but  are  generally  set  well  apart,  giving 
plenty  of  light  and  air  to  all ;  this,  also,  we  are  told, 
being  due  to  the  care  of  the  Government. 

We  saw  stately  avenues,  fine  residences  and  park- 
like  gardens;  we  saw,  too,  quaint,  crooked  streets, 
running  between  rows  of  low  houses,  pink  or  buff  or 

284 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

pale  green,  with  wide,  projecting  eaves— queer  angles 
in  both  streets  and  buildings;  hybiscus  and  poin- 
settias  and  honeysuckle  nodding  over  the  fences,  a 
touch  of  green  between  the  paving-stones  on  a  hill 
side,  and  splotches  of  purplish  shadow — all  through 
a  slant  of  yellow  sunshine.  Occasionally  a  viaduct 
carries  across  from  ridge  to  ridge,  and  from  it  one 
looks  down  on  a  medley  of  mottled  roofs  and  thick 
gardens  below.  And  always,  in  every  direction, 
across  smiling  valleys,  one  sees  the  girdling,  sun- 
washed  hills. 

There  is  a  municipal  theatre,  not  yet  finished, 
which  would  put  most  of  our  own  to  shame,  and  a 
railway  station  the  equal  of  any  I  know  in  a  city 
of  similar  size — and  the  superior  of  most. 

All  this  Senhor  Aveiro  showed  us,  and  more.  He 
regretted  that  Senhora  Aveiro  could  not  call  upon 
us,  as  she  is  in  mourning,  but  daily  he  sent  us  photo 
graphs  and  picture  postals,  books  and  pamphlets 
descriptive  of  Brazil,  theatre  tickets  and  a  box  to  the 
opera.  And  when  we  finally  drove  to  the  station, 
in  the  gray  of  an  early  morning — I  carrying  in  my 
hand  the  set  of  souvenir  coffee-cups  he  had  sent  the 
night  before,  because  I  feared  they  would  be  broken 
in  my  bag — we  found  him  waiting,  with  his  wife, 
on  the  platform,  laden  with  roses  cut  from  their 
garden  and  still  dew-wet. 

As  long  as  the  station  was  in  sight  we  could  see 
their  waving  handkerchiefs,  and  all  day  the  roses 
were  fragrant.  That's  the  kind  of  people  they  are 
in  Sao  Paulo,  and  therefore  they  seem  "no  more 
strangers  and  foreigners,"  but  friends. 

285 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

One  very  quaint  thing  we  saw  there  was  the 
bridal  procession.  Berenice  and  I  went  out  for  a 
stroll  one  evening  about  sunset,  and  in  the  heart  of 
the  city,  only  a  block  or  two  from  our  hotel,  we  met 
a  dainty  little  gray  coupe",  drawn  by  white  horses, 
with  cupids  and  trailing  garlands  painted  on  its 
pale  panels.  The  two  men  on  the  box  were  in  light 
livery,  with  white  stockings,  buckled  shoes  and  cocked 
hats,  and  the  carriage  was  upholstered  in  the  palest 
cloth  and  hung  with  orange  blossoms. 

Within  sat  the  white-clad  bride  in  flowing  veil,  an 
enormous  bouquet — a  very  shield  and  buckler — in 
her  lap,  and  beside  her  an  apparently  perfectly 
miserable  bridegroom.  It  is  evidently  very  bad 
form  for  either  of  them  to  look  happy  or  to  seem  in 
any  way  interested  in  each  other.  Behind  the 
bridal  coach  came  a  long  queue  of  carriages  filled 
with  men,  women,  children  and  slumbering  babes, 
all  in  gala  array.  Within  two  blocks  we  met  three 
of  these  processions,  one  after  another,  differing  only 
in  the  elegance  of  their  appointments  as  one  star 
differeth  from  another  star  in  glory.  All  the  bridal 
couples  looked  equally  hopeless  and  dejected,  and 
the  whole  thing  was  so  evidently  a  matter  of  course 
that  nobody  but  us  paid  the  slightest  attention 
to  it. 

I  fancy  the  sight  set  us  both  to  thinking,  for 
Berenice  grew  suddenly  voluble,  and  I  as  suddenly 
silent.  Oh,  if  the  next  week  were  only  over!  "  Wot 
makes  the  soldier's  'eart  to  penk,  wot  makes  'im  to 
perspire?  It  isn't  standin'  up  to  charge  nor  lyin' 
down  to  fire;  But  it's  everlastin'  waitin'  on  a  ever- 

286 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

lastin'   road — "     Ah,   well,  fretting  isn't  going  to 
help  matters  any.     Let's  talk  about  Brazil. 

The  journey  to  Rio  began  in  a  heavy  fog,  through 
which  we  caught  an  occasional  dim  outline  of  the 
hills  among  which  we  were  running.  Later,  as  the 
mist  lifted,  we  passed  slopes  covered  with  glossy 
green  coffee-bushes  and  orange  orchards  spangled 
with  fruit,  or  plunged  through  thick  jungle,  full  of 
palms,  bananas  and  bamboo. 

Oh,  the  bamboo  of  this  country !  Enormous  clumps 
of  soft,  cool,  feathery,  graceful,  luscious  greenery! 

We  passed  through  seductive  little  towns,  all  soft- 
tinted  walls  and  tiles  and  poinsettias  and  avenues 
of  palms.  Sometimes  one  of  these  was  plastered 
up  against  the  side  of  a  hill,  and  we  caught  quaint 
angles  in  the  roofs,  and  vistas  of  steep,  flagged 
streets,  that  for  the  moment  recalled  Italy,  though 
there  was  nothing  Italian  in  the  landscape. 

At  every  station  native  women  sold  fruit  from 
broad  baskets,  and  negro  boys  came  along  the  plat 
form  with  trays  of  tiny  cups  and  a  coffee-pot,  soft 
Portuguese  syllables  slipping  from  their  tongues. 
Coffee,  by-the-way,  is  served  here  already  sweetened. 
Milk  is  a  matter  of  choice,  but  sugar  is  part  of  the 
brew. 

For  hours  we  ran  beside  a  lovely  river,  through 
hills  very  like  some  I  know  in  Delaware  and  Penn 
sylvania,  except  that  these  were  always  clothed  in 
this  wonderful,  warm,  tropical  green.  And  always 
there  were  the  fascinating  little  towns,  and  the  bam 
boo,  and  the  coffee  boys  at  the  stations,  the  views, 
the  foliage  and  the  color. 
19  287 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

As  the  day  wore  on,  it  grew  hot  and  very,  very 
dusty.  Our  heavy  wraps,  long  since  cast  aside, 
were  gray  with  dust,  as  we  were  ourselves,  and  on 
the  floor  it  actually  lay  in  little  drifts.  We  ate  it 
and  drank  it  and  breathed  it,  but  I  didn't  care. 
Uncle  Beverley  fussed  and  brushed  and  valiantly 
tried  not  to  show  how  bored  and  irritated  he  was— 
he  has  progressed  several  inches  since  we  left 
Jamaica! — and  Berenice  covered  her  head  with  a 
veil  and  went  to  sleep ;  but  I  kept  on  vibrating  from 
one  side  of  the  car  to  the  other,  with  occasional  ex 
cursions  to  the  back  platform,  all  discomforts  in 
significant  beside  the  beauty  of  that  panorama. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  we  came  to  a  dryer  section 
—less  riotously  green.  Beautiful  reddish  grasses 
covered  the  slopes,  and  there  were  many  cattle. 
We  passed  long  trains  filled  with  poor  brutes  on 
their  way  to  the  slaughter-houses. 

Just  before  sunset,  as  I  was  deciding  that  the 
best  of  it  was  over,  we  began  to  climb  a  wooded 
ridge,  and  then  came  the  most  beautiful  part  of  a 
beautiful  trip.  The  shadows,  already  long,  grew 
longer,  the  sunlight  yellowed  and  mellowed,  the 
soft  greens  grew  warmer  and  the  blue  shadows  crept 
up  from  the  valleys  and  deepened — and  still  we 
climbed. 

We  whizzed  around  curves  and  through  count 
less  tunnels  that  blotted  out  lovely  scenes  before 
we  had  more  than  glimpsed  them,  only  to  disclose 
others  more  lovely  a  moment  later,  until  the  king 
doms  of  the  world  and  the  glory  of  them  lay  spread 
out  beneath  us. 

288 


OH.     THE     BAMBOO     OF     THIS     COUNTRY! 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

It  reminded  me  constantly  of  the  ascent  of  the 
Apennines,  going  from  Florence  to  Venice,  tunnels 
and  all,  except  that  in  place  of  the  mellow,  aged 
Italian  villages  and  vineyards  we  had  the  no  less 
beautiful  but  virgin  jungle — the  splendid  youth  of 
a  country  whose  history  has  just  begun. 

The  mountains  began  to  show  abrupt,  fantastic 
outlines,  only  saved  from  being  grotesque  by  the 
softness  of  the  verdure  clothing  them  from  base  to 
summit — and  dusk  was  just  falling  when  we  rolled 
into  Rio,  tired,  dusty,  but  I,  at  least,  oozing  enthu 
siasm  even  more  profusely  than  I  did  perspiration. 

Rio!  How  am  I  ever  going  to  make  you  see  Rio 
until  I  bring  you  here  some  day?  Of  course  you 
know  that  she  has  the  most  beautiful  harbor  in  the 
world — and  that  doesn't  mean  a  thing  to  you,  does 
it?  It  never  did  to  me  until  I  saw  it.  Of  course 
you  know  about  the  Royal  Palms,  feather  dusters 
of  the  gods,  planted  brush  up  in  endless  avenues. 
They  are  impressive — but  they  are  not  Rio.  Of 
course  you  have  heard  of  the  brilliant  new  Avenida, 
built  at  tremendous  cost  straight  through  the  heart 
of  the  city.  That  is  wonderful — but  it  isn't  Rio. 

Italy  is  a  beautiful  old  woman,  a  patrician  in  vel 
vet  and  point  lace;  Havana  is  a  flirt;  but  Rio — 
Rio  is  a  splendid  barbarian  princess  with  a  breath 
like  wine! 

We  are  perched  in  a  little  chalet,  high  above  the 
hotel,  which  is  itself  half  way  up  a  mountain-side, 
and  as  I  write,  I  look  from  the  Corcovado,  almost 
straight  overhead — have  you  seen  pictures  of  this 
gray  needle  of  rock  that  towers  two  thousand  feet 

289 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

over  the  city  ? — down  across  the  feathery,  ferny  tops 
of  a  forest  of  bamboos  and  palms,  to  the  wonderful, 
soft  yellow-and-brown  roofs  of  town,  and  on  to  the 
bay,  the  grim  Sugarloaf ,  and  the  green  hills  beyond. 
Last  night  we  sat  on  the  terrace  and  I  watched  the 
stars.  The  lights  of  the  city  were  hardly  brighter. 

Marion,  I  am  drunk!  Drunk  as  any  lord — on 
color!  This  is  all  the  dreams  I  ever  dreamed  come 
true!  If  only  it  were  not  for  the  clutching,  sicken 
ing  sense  of  failure  and  tragedy — if  only  it  were  not 
for  the  Gaveston  man!  Ah,  well,  who  am  I  to 
clamor  for  apples  without  worms?  And  yet,  how 
gladly  I  would  sacrifice  the  apple  if  thereby  I  could 
destroy  the  worm! 

There  goes  a  steamer — out  of  the  bay.  And  to 
think  that  in  three  little  weeks,  possibly  in  even 
less  time,  I  too  must  leave  all  this  and  take  my 
way  north  again,  home  —  to  what?  How  can  I 
look  enough — how  can  I  breathe  enough  in  those 
few  days  to  last  me  all  the  rest  of  my  colorless 
life? 

In  three  weeks,  perhaps  in  three  days,  Berenice 
will  be — 

*  *  * 

When  I  wrote  the  foregoing  this  afternoon,  Bere 
nice  was  down-town  with  her  uncle.  Just  there  she 
came  stumbling,  panting  up  the  steps — it's  a  long 
pull  from  the  tram-line — as  white  as  death. 

Her  eyes  seemed  to  glow  from  away  back  in  her 
head  somewhere,  and  there  were  hard  lines  about 
her  mouth.  I  was  frightened,  thinking  she  was  very 
ill,  but  when  I  ran  to  help  her  she  shrank  from  me, 

290 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

at  too  high  a  tension  to  be  touched.  She  spoke 
rapidly — imperiously — but  in  breathless  gasps. 

"Listen!  Don't  touch  me!  I  take  it  back! — My 
promise — I  take  it  back! — I  shall  marry  Mr.  Gaves- 
ton — whenever  he — wishes — now — at  once — here — 
the  day  he  arrives,  if  possible.  Don't  talk! — I  won't 
listen! — I  take  back  my  promise! — My  life  is  my 
own — I  am  of  age — I  have  decided — I  shall  be  mar 
ried  Thursday — Friday — as  soon  as  possible!  He 
urged  me  to — marry  him  here — and  I  shall  do  it!  I 
won't  wait  a  day — not  one  day — longer  than  is 
necessary!" 

She  flung  herself  into  her  room  and  locked  the 
door.  I  heard  wild  sobbing,  but  she  would  not  let 
me  in. 

We  are  completely  puzzled.  The  mail  she  found 
awaiting  her  here  last  night  did  not  excite  her  and 
she  has  received  no  more  to-day.  Mr.  Ames  says 
they  were  proceeding  very  quietly  along  the  Avenida, 
and  he  was  not  noticing  Berenice  particularly,  until 
suddenly  he  missed  her.  He  looked  back  and  saw 
her  walking  very  rapidly  in  the  other  direction. 

She  was  pale  when  he  caught  up  to  her,  and  said 
she  wanted  to  return  to  the  hotel  alone.  He  thought 
she  was  ill  and  wanted  to  come  with  her,  but  she 
insisted  that  he  should  not,  so  he  put  her  on  the 
tram  and  followed  half  an  hour  or  so  later.  And 
that  is  all  we  know  about  it. 

She  refused  dinner  and  still  keeps  her  door 
locked,  though  I  do  not  think  she  is  crying  now. 
Thank  Heaven,  Helen  comes  to-morrow! 

If  I  can,  I  will  add  a  line  later,  but  I  may  be 
291 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

unable  to  write  at  all  for  a  day  or  two,  and  this  must 
go  by  Wednesday's  steamer  or  wait  a  week. 


Rio,  June  2ist. 

Dear  girl,  this  note  will  probably  be  kaleidoscopic 
and  jumbled,  for  the  heavens  have  fallen  and  I  have 
done  so  much  hopping  about  to  dodge  the  stars  that 
I  have  acquired  the  habit — an  undignified  one 
which  I  shall  have  to  reform  if  I  decide — but  that 
comes  later. 

Almost  everything  that  could  happen  in  twenty- 
four  hours  has  happened,  except  that  Berenice's  fate 
is  still  in  the  balance,  and  so,  incidentally,  is  mine. 
That  is  one  of  the  shooting-stars.  Helen  is  here — 
but  you  shall  have  the  tale  as  it  unfolded  itself  to  us. 

First,  then,  just  after  I  had  finished  my  letter  to 
you  last  night  and  had  sent  it  down  to  the  post  by 
Uncle  Beverley — I  wonder  if  I  shall  always  think 
of  him  as  Uncle  Beverley? — the  smiling  Portuguese 
who  serves  the  chalets  came  up,  a  card  in  his  hand, 
asking  whether  Mr.  Ames  was  here.  I  indicated 
that  he  had  gone  down-town,  and  the  man  disap 
peared. 

Presently  he  returned  to  say  that  some  one  wished 
to  see  me.  I  made  signs  that  it  must  be  a  mistake, 
and  he  repeated  what  he  thought  was  my  name — I 
wish  you  could  have  heard  his  struggle  with  Pome- 
roy! — and  handed  me  the  card.  Then,  my  dear,  the 
first  star  shot  by,  so  close  that  it  singed  my  hair. 
The  name  I  read  was  "Mr.  Perry  Lydecker  Waite." 

292 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

This  was  all  the  explanation  that  I  needed  of 
Berenice's  tempest.  She  had  seen  him  on  the 
street.  Needless  to  say,  I  did  not  inform  her  of 
his  call.  Needless,  also,  to  state  that  I  let  no  grass 
grow  under  my  feet  on  the  way  down  to  the  hotel, 
where  he  waited  on  the  terrace.  Such  a  charming 
boy,  Marion!  So  direct  and  manly  and  honest,  and 
with  such  delightful  manners!  Older  than  I  thought, 
too — twenty-three  or  four,  I  should  say.  I  don't 
know  what  Dick  could  have  been  thinking  about.  I 
would  have  given  him  my  ducats  and  my  daughter 
and  my  blessing,  and  everything  else  he  had  asked 
for.  I  had  sufficient  self-control  not  to  tell  him 
this,  however. 

He  explained  at  once  that  he  had  been  looking 
for  us  for  several  days,  that  he  knew  all  about  me 
and  my  present  position  from  Shafter  Blakeney, 
and  that  as  he  did  not  care  to  put  me  in  a  false 
light  before  the  Ames  family,  he  had  sent  his  card 
to  me  before  attempting  to  see  Berenice.  I  rather 
wished  he  hadn't,  but  I  didn't  tell  him  that,  either. 

I  said  that  my  office  was  a  negative  one,  and  that 
if  he  wanted  to  see  Miss  Ames  he  must  first  obtain 
her  uncle's  permission,  whereupon  he  looked  me 
straight  in  the  eye,  and  said,  very  quietly: 

"  I  prefer  that  you  should  understand,  Mrs.  Pome- 
roy,  that  I  intend  to  see  Miss  Ames.  I  should  be 
glad  to  do  so  with  the  permission  of  her  family, 
but  if  that  is  withheld  —  I  shall  see  her  just  the 
same." 

I  tried  to  look  very  stern  and  disapproving,  but 
I  could  have  hugged  the  wretch  and  I  think  he 

293 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

knew  it.  Shafter  Blakeney  must  have  given  a 
vivid  portrayal  of  me! 

I  asked  him,  somewhat  dryly,  whether  he  wasn't 
counting  without  Miss  Ames  herself,  who  might  rea 
sonably  have  some  voice  in  the  matter,  whereat  he 
got  very  white,  and  asked: 

" Do  you  mean  that  she  would  refuse  to  see  me?" 

I  told  him  I  was  perfectly  sure  she  would.  He 
asked,  rather  unsteadily,  whether  she  was  engaged 
to  Mr.  Gaveston,  and  I  replied: 

"Not  yet." 

"You  mean  that  she  intends  to  accept  him?" 

"I  think  it  not  improbable." 

"Is  he  here?" 

"He  will  be — Wednesday."  He  studied  over 
this  for  a  moment,  and  then  impaled  me  again  upon 
that  direct  young  gaze  of  his. 

"Mrs.  Pomeroy,  does  she  love  him?"  I  said  only 
that  she  had  not  taken  me  so  far  into  her  confidence, 
but  something  seemed  to  cheer  him,  for  he  threw  up 
his  head,  and  demanded:  "Then  why  should  she 
refuse  to  see  me?" 

I  asked  him  if  he  really  knew  of  no  reason,  and  he 
replied,  rather  hesitantly: 

"There  was  a — sort  of  misunderstanding  when  she 
came  away — "  I  nodded.  "  You  know  about  that  ? 
She  told  you  that?  Oh,  well!"  For  some  reason 
this  seemed  to  bring  us  very  close  together  all  at 
once.  Evidently  he  knows  my  lady  Berenice,  root, 
branch  and  blossom!  "But  Bunny  Blakeney  gave 
her  my  message  in  Santiago — you  heard  that — and 
she  fired  the  Englishman — didn't  she?  Bunny  said 

294 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

a  bear  with  a  sore  head  wasn't  in  it  with  him  after 
you  left."  Oh,  faithful  Shafter!  "Then  why  won't 
she  see  me?" 

Well,  I  asked  him  about  his  engagement  to  Meta 
Carstairs — and  it  was  the  first  he  had  heard  of  it. 
He  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed,  then  he 
frowned,  and  then  he  laughed  again. 

"So  that's  the  reason,"  he  mused.  "Do  you 
think  I'll  have  to  kidnap  her  first  and  convince  her 
afterward?" — from  which  you  may  infer  that  Mr. 
Perry  Lydecker  Waite  and  I  had  covered  a  good 
deal  of  intervening  space  in  fifteen  minutes. 

Mr.  Carstairs,  it  developed,  has  some  business 
interests  in  Rio,  and  had  arranged  to  send  another 
man  down  to  look  after  them.  Meta,  who  is  de 
voted  to  Berenice,  and  knew  nothing  of  her  quarrel 
with  Perry,  mentioned  this  to  him  and  then  aided 
and  abetted  him  in  his  effort  to  supplant  the  other 
man,  in  which  they  were  successful.  It  was  partly 
on  account  of  this  other  man,  and  partly  at  Perry's 
own  request — "because  it  isn't  necessary  to  talk 
about  everything,  and  some  people  like  to,"  he  said 
—that  the  matter  was  kept  rather  quiet. 

I  told  him  that  Helen  would  arrive  to-day,  when 
my  obligations  would  be  at  an  end,  and  that  Bere 
nice  was  not  feeling  well — and  I  did  not  tell  him 
why — and  we  agreed  that  he  should  make  no  further 
move  last  night. 

Berenice  slept  late  this  morning,  and  when  she 
awoke,  her  mother  was  standing  by  her  bed  watch 
ing  her.  Well — naturally  there  was  a  commotion. 
Berenice  cried,  and  Helen  cried — and  I  wept  a  sym- 

295 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

pathetic  drop  or  two  myself,  and  then  I  went  down 
to  the  terrace  and  left  them  alone  in  the  chalet. 

I  may  as  well  tell  you  now  that  while  I  waited 
there,  with  my  heart  in  my  mouth,  Beverley  Ames 
came  along  and — you  can  guess  the  rest.  He  be 
gan  by  telling  me,  in  his  stiff,  kindly  way,  how  good 
I  had  been  to  Berenice,  and  how  deeply  he  had  been 
touched  by  what  he  was  pleased  to  call  my  patience 
and  tact  and  wisdom. 

I  was  utterly  unstrung  anyway,  and  this  loosened 
the  last  cord  of  my  self-control,  so  I  couldn't  bite 
the  tears  back  any  longer — and  you  know  what  that 
does  to  any  normal  man.  He  sat  down  beside  me 
and  said  that  he  hadn't  meant  to  mention  it  again 
until  this  trip  was  over,  because,  though  he  had  felt 
very  much  encouraged  of  late — oh,  Marion! — he 
had  gathered  from  my  manner  that  I  would  prefer 
not  to  have  anything  definitely  decided  between  us 
until  we  got  home. 

I  summoned  up  spirit  enough  to  ask  what  reason 
he  thought  he  had  for  feeling  encouraged — but  I 
knew!  How  my  chickens  do  come  trooping  home 
to  roost!  He  was  very  nice  about  it,  however,  and 
didn't  send  them  back  crowing. 

He  said  only  that  now,  since  Helen  had  come  to 
be  with  Berenice — and  with  me,  he  felt  that  the 
ban  had  been  lifted  and  that  he  might  speak  freely, 
the  more  so  that  I  was  worn  and  troubled  and 
needed  comfort — as  Heaven  knows  I  do! 

My  impulse,  of  course,  was  to  refuse,  but  he  begged 
me  to  think  it  over  quietly — and  Marion,  I'm  doing 
it.  I  am  thinking  about  it  very  seriously.  If  I 

296 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

marry  him,  it  will  be  in  opposition  to  all  my  ideals 
of  marriage.  I  realize  that  perfectly.  But  I  wonder 
whether  romantic  ideals  were  meant  for  tired,  lonely 
women?  And  I  am  very  tired,  and  very  lonely, 
and  it  is  a  long,  flat,  arid  stretch  ahead. 

It  is  not  as  if  there  were  the  slightest  deception 
on  either  side.  He  makes  no  pretence  of  love  in 
the  romantic  sense,  but  says  frankly  that  he  admires 
me  more  than  any  other  woman  he  ever  knew,  that 
he  is  very  much  alone,  that  lately  the  future  has 
looked  dreary  to  him,  and  that  my  presence  would 
brighten  it. 

That  isn't  very  much  to  ask,  is  it?  Just  friend 
ship  and  companionship.  Almost  any  woman  might 
give  that  to  a  man  she  liked,  and  still  retain  her 
self-respect.  At  least,  I  think  she  might.  I  am 
trying  to  decide  whether  or  not  I  can.  And  I  do 
like  him,  for  he  is  kind  and  sincere  and  loyal — and 
he  asks  so  little! 

Of  course,  that  is  the  real  secret.  He  asks  so 
little  that  I  believe  I  could  satisfy  him — but  I  am 
not  so  sure  that  it  would  satisfy  me,  who  have  al 
ways  been  greedy  and  demanded  much  of  life. 

He  said  that  Helen  and  Dick  would  be  pleased, 
which  I  think  is  true,  and — he  said  some  other 
things  that  I  can't  repeat,  even  to  you,  because  I 
deserve  them  so  little. 

Three  hours  after  I  left  the  chalet,  Helen  came 
down,  pale  and  despairing.  Berenice  had  nearly 
wept  her  heart  out  at  first,  but  clung  to  her  deter 
mination  to  marry  Mr.  Gaveston  immediately,  "be 
fore  father  and  Uncle  Beverley  have  time  to  trump 

297 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

up  any  silly,  stupid,  malicious  story  about  him,  as 
they  are  trying  to  do,"  she  said. 

Helen  wanted  to  know  why  Beverley  and  I  so 
mistrusted  this  Englishman.  Wasn't  he  a  gentle 
man?  Had  we  learned  anything  against  him,  for 
all  our  trying  ?  Of  course,  he  had  fallen  in  love  with 
Berenice,  but  was  that  a  crime?  She  dwelt  on  the 
fact  that  he  was  well-born,  and  even  mentioned 
that  there  was  a  title  in  the  family.  You  remember 
Helen  always  leaned  a  little  in  that  direction.  Any 
way,  didn't  I  know  that  the  surest  way  to  drive  any 
Ames  into  a  certain  path  was  to  oppose  their  going 
there?  Poor  Helen! 

All  I  could  tell  her  about  Gaveston  was  that  I 
was  born  with  an  antipathy  to  spiders  and  that  I 
always  recognized  one  when  I  met  it  on  the  high 
way,  whatever  its  disguise,  which  naturally  did  not 
satisfy  her.  It  wasn't  that  she  was  taking  up  the 
cudgels  for  Gaveston  so  much  as  that  she  was  be 
wildered  and  distressed — though  Berenice  had  evi 
dently  shaken  her  faith  in  our  judgment.  She  had 
lost  her  balance,  and  wanted  something  firm  to  set 
her  foot  on,  if  it  was  only  our  insufficiency  or  Bere 
nice's  inherent  charm. 

I  had  told  her  hurriedly,  before  she  saw  the  child, 
of  young  Waite's  presence  in  Rio,  my  reception  of 
him  the  night  before,  and  my  conviction  that  he 
and  Berenice  really  loved  each  other,  all  of  which 
she  had  rather  resented.  I  now  urged  her,  since 
Berenice  seemed  determined  to  marry  somebody 
out  of  hand,  to  give  Perry  an  equal  chance  with  the 
other  man,  and  her  permission  to  rewin  the  girl  if 

298 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

he  could,  which  she  refused  to  do.  She  said  Dick 
would  never  forgive  her,  and  that  I  really  didn't 
know  any  more  about  Waite  than  I  did  about  Gaves- 
ton,  and  that  since  Dick  had  decided  that  Perry 
Waite  was  not  a  proper  person  to  marry  Berenice, 
she  certainly  was  not  going  to  fly  in  the  face  of  his 
decision.  "Men  know  lots  of  things  that  women 
don't,"  she  said. 

Then  I  begged  her  at  least  to  see  the  boy  herself, 
and  to  this  she  finally  consented,  but  before  I  could 
get  him  out  here,  her  ancient  enemy  fell  upon  her 
and  smote  her  hip  and  thigh.  You  know  what  heat 
and  excitement  always  did  to  Helen?  They  did  it 
again,  and  she  went  to  bed  in  the  throes  of  a  sick 
headache,  where  she  still  lies,  prone  and  helpless, 
Berenice  in  attendance. 

Then  I  labored  vigorously  with  Mr.  Ames,  and 
persuaded  him  to  see  Perry — which  he  did,  he  said, 
solely  for  my  sake,  as  he  considered  the  young  man's 
presence  in  Rio  at  this  time  an  impertinence,  and 
his  determination  to  thrust  himself  upon  the  Ames 
family  little  short  of  insolence,  all  of  which  my  sweet 
but  too  sympathetic  nature  naturally  prevented  my 
seeing  clearly. 

Marion,  could  I  stand  a  lifetime  of  that  sort  of 
thing?  Or  would  his  real  kindness  make  it  seem, 
in  time,  a  harmless  eccentricity  to  be  tenderly  smiled 
at?  I'm  getting  so  I  don't  rnind  his  fussy  little 
ways  at  all,  and  I  can  comment  very  intelligently  on 
the  Civil  War  and  think  about  something  else  all  the 
time. 

It  was  in  that  spirit,  anyway,  that  he  went  to  the 
299 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

interview,  and  it  was  more  or  less — rather  less — in 
that  spirit  that  he  came  away  from  it.  I  am  not 
saying  that  I  hadn't  put  a  flea  or  two  in  Perry's 
ear,  but  the  one  that  would  have  been  most  effective 
he  wouldn't  entertain.  He  flatly  refused  to  tell  any 
of  the  Ameses  the  reason  that  Berenice  came  to 
South  America  instead  of  eloping  with  him  as  she 
threatened  to  do. 

"If  the  time  ever  comes,"  said  he,  "when  Bere 
nice  is  willing  that  her  family  should  know  of  that 
incident,  she  will  tell  them  herself.  At  present, 
she'd  rather  die  than  have  them  know  of  it — 
wouldn't  she?"  I  was  obliged  to  admit  that  she 
probably  would,  but  urged  that  extreme  measures 
were  justifiable.  He  wagged  his  head.  "No.  I 
shall  not  tell  them — and  you  can't,  without  betray 
ing  her  confidence,  which  you  will  not  do." 

There  went  the  only  chance  of  even  faintly  recon 
ciling  the  Ameses  to  Perry  Waite — on  short  notice, 
at  least — so  deeply  are  they  all  imbued  with  this 
senseless  prejudice  against  him  and  with  the  idea 
that  he  is  a  fortune-hunter. 

Uncle  Beverley  did  admit,  when  pressed,  that  the 
young  man's  appearance  was  somewhat  in  his  favor, 
but  he  had  read  into  Perry's  steady,  direct,  courte 
ous  manner  a  certain  veiled  insolence,  a  lack  of  re 
spect  for  age  and  authority,  and  his  persistence  in 
following  Berenice  down  here  was  quoted  as  proof 
positive  of  a  sordid  and  mercenary  mind. 

Mr.  Ames  added  that,  in  any  event,  his  brother 
Richard  had  seen  the  young  man,  talked  with  him, 
and  decided  against  him,  and  that  whatever  his  own 

300 


opinion  might  be  in  the  matter,  he  should  never 
think  of  reversing  any  decision  of  Richard's  in  a 
matter  concerning  a  member  of  Richard's  imme 
diate  family.  It  was  too  great  a  responsibility,  he 
said. 

Then  I  asked  him  to  cable  to  Dick,  setting  forth 
the  situation,  and  asking  whether,  as  between  the 
two  men,  he  would  not  prefer  that  she  should  marry 
her  own  countryman.  I  would  cable  myself,  but  I 
know  that  Dick  wouldn't  pay  the  slightest  atten 
tion  to  a  message  from  me  when  Helen  and  Beverley 
are  both  on  the  spot,  particularly  as  he  and  Helen 
seem  to  be  saturated  with  the  idea  that  my  personal 
liking  for  Shafter  Blakeney  was  equivalent  to  ap 
proval  and  encouragement,  from  the  first,  of  the 
Waite  affair. 

Mr.  Ames  said,  however,  that  it  would  be  quite 
impossible  to  explain  the  situation  clearly  in  a 
cablegram;  and  then  he  asked  me,  very  kindly, 
whether  I  didn't  think,  since  Berenice's  mother  had 
come  down  here  for  the  express  purpose  of  deciding 
these  questions,  that  he  and  I  might  safely  leave 
them  to  her?  Finis. 

By  this  time  I  was  pretty  well  exhausted,  as  you 
may  imagine,  not  having  slept  more  than  forty  winks 
all  night,  and  I  felt  that  if  I  couldn't  get  away  from 
all  this  for  a  few  minutes,  at  least,  I  should  go  stark, 
staring  mad.  So,  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  Mr. 
Ames  had  gone  down-town  and  I  had  ascertained 
that  there  was  nothing  I  could  do  to  make  Helen 
more  comfortable,  I  slipped  away  and  rode  down 
to  the  city  and  back  on  the  tram,  just  to  drink  color 

301 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

— exactly,  I  imagine,  as  a  man,  under  similar  cir 
cumstances,  might  drink  liquor.  But  mine  was  a 
diviner  draught  than  ever  was  distilled  from  fruit 
or  grain,  and  I  returned  uplifted  and  encouraged. 

It  is  very  warm  here  and  the  air  is  damp,  but  the 
dampness  has  compensations.  It  covers  every  wall 
and  step  and  stone  with  exquisite  green  mosses  and 
lichens  of  various  shades.  Brazilians  have  a  fancy 
for  tinting  their  masonry — garden  walls  and  such — 
a  lovely  soft  color  which  is  neither  red  nor  rose  nor 
flame  nor  salmon — but  a  little  of  all.  Somebody  in 
the  dining-room  to-day  suggested  that  it  was  a 
"Greek  pink."  As  I  don't  happen  to  know  Greek 
pink  by  sight,  I  can't  say,  but  I  know  that  when 
mosses  and  creepers  and  lichens  arrange  themselves 
upon  this  background,  the  result  is  intoxicating. 

The  only  way  to  get  to  and  from  this  hotel  is  by 
tram,  and  the  road  runs  all  the  way  beside  a  ruined 
aqueduct,  and  seems  more  beautiful  each  time  I 
go  over  it,  as  I  learn  where  the  especially  lovely  bits 
are.  There  is  a  place  that  looks  like  an  old  fortifi 
cation,  though  it  may  be  simply  masonry  to  keep 
the  hill  from  sliding  down,  and  it,  too,  is  gray  with 
lichens  and  green  with  moss,  and  its  top  is  garlanded 
with  flowering  creepers.  There  are  quaint,  steep, 
narrow  stairways — some  of  them,  also,  in  ruins — 
and  occasional  little,  rusty,  grated  doors  in  the  hill 
side,  which  may  admit  to  water-pipes  or  sewers, 
but  which  suggest  all  sorts  of  delightful  and  romantic 
possibilities. 

And  always  there  are  the  trees  and  their  green 
shadows,  and  the  changing  views  of  city  and  bay 

302 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

and  mountains,  and  always  the  road  twists  and 
turns  and  winds,  following  the  course  of  the  old 
aqueduct  and  the  contour  of  the  hills  down  to  the 
city. 

For  the  last  stretch,  the  aqueduct — here  a  fine, 
double  tier  of  arches,  one  on  top  of  the  other — be 
comes  a  viaduct  for  the  tram-line,  and  we  hum 
over  it,  looking  down  on  streets  and  roofs  and  gar 
dens  and  palm-trees,  and  end,  at  last,  beneath  the 
domes  and  weather-stained  walls  of  an  old  mon 
astery. 

There  has  recently  appeared  a  magazine  article 
concerning  the  chimney-pots  of  Florence.  I  wish 
somebody  who  knows  enough  would  write  one  about 
the  roofs  of  Rio — but  it  must  be  illustrated  in  color, 
and  in  color  beyond  the  present  possibilities  of  ink! 

I  decided  to-day  that  the  tiles,  which  seem  to  be 
generally  flat  and  grooved,  are  originally  of  one 
color,  a  deep,  rich,  reddish  yellow,  and  that  the 
softening  and  mottling  and  exquisite  coloration  is 
made  by  the  lichens  which  gather  quickly  upon 
them.  The  result  is  a  harmony  that  I  find  entranc 
ing.  And  when  there  are  thousands  of  these  roofs, 
quaintly  gabled,  nestling  in  masses  of  warm,  dark, 
yellow  green,  lapped  by  the  sapphire  sea,  guarded 
by  towering  gray  crags,  caressed  by  the  softest  airs — 
Oh,  it's  no  use!  I  can't  make  you  see  it! 

But  I  can  go  out,  wearied  and  sleepless,  harried 
by  sorrow  and  uncertainty  and  dread,  and  drink 
deep  draughts  of  it,  bathe  in  it,  breathe  it,  draw  it 
into  my  very  soul,  and  come  back  to  real  life  a 
woman  again.  That's  what  I  did  this  afternoon.  I 
*o  303 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

went  to  the  city  end  of  the  line,  and  then  up  the 
whole  length  of  the  road  to  Silvestre,  the  last 
station. 

When  I  got  back  to  earth — and  the  hotel — I 
found  Perry  Waite  sitting  on  the  terrace.  He  said 
he  had  seen  Mr.  Ames  down-town  and  knew  that  Mrs. 
Ames  was  ill,  and  he  thought  it  might  be  a  good 
time  to  see  Berenice,  so  he  had  come  out  to  try. 
Even  as  he  spoke,  the  man  returned  and  handed 
him  his  card,  across  which  Berenice,  as  if  afraid 
that  her  message  would  not  be  clearly  delivered, 
had  written,  "Miss  Ames  is  not  at  home." 

It  was  a  blow  to  him,  for  he  had  still  believed  that 
she  would  see  him  if  left  to  herself  and  given  the 
opportunity,  and  this  took  away  all  hope  of  that. 

My  position  is  a  difficult  one,  for  however  I  sym 
pathize  with  him  and  desire  to  help  him,  because  I 
believe  it  is  for  Berenice's  real  happiness,  it  is  im 
possible,  under  the  circumstances,  for  me  to  con 
spire  with  him  and  against  the  Ames  family,  whose 
envoy  I  have  been,  and  in  a  sense  am  still.  Never 
theless,  I  offered  to  go  up  to  the  chalet  and  tell 
Berenice  that  he  had  never  been  engaged  to  Meta 
Carstairs.  Berenice  has  avoided  me  all  day,  offend 
ed  because  I  did  not  tell  her  that  her  mother  was 
expected;  but  I  knew  that  I  could  corner  her  and 
make  her  listen  that  Idng,  at  least.  Indeed,  I  arose 
to  go,  but  he  said,  "Wait  a  minute,"  and  went  off 
into  a  brown  study.  Presently  he  said: 

"  She'd  be  sure  to  resent  your  thinking  that 
could  make  any  difference  now.  She's  just  in  that 
mood  when  it  might  do  more  harm  than  good.  Be- 

304 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

sides — it  wouldn't  add  to  your  popularity  with  her 
people,  would  it?" 

I  said  that  my  popularity  or  lack  of  it  ought  not 
to  enter  into  the  question  at  all.  The  only  thing  I 
cared  to  preserve  was  my  self-respect,  and  I  could 
not  do  that  and  be  disloyal  to  the  Ameses.  At  the 
same  time,  I  knew  what  nobody  else  did,  that  the 
report  of  this  engagement  had  moved  her  strongly, 
and  I  felt  that  before  she  engaged  herself  to  another 
man  it  was  her  right  to  know  what  I  now  knew: 
that  the  Carstairs  engagement  had  never  existed. 
Therefore,  I  purposed  telling  her  so. 

"That's  very  good  of  you,"  he  said.  "Mighty 
good  of  you,  but — wait."  After  a  little,  he  went  on : 
"There  must  be  some  other  way  out  of  this,  you 
know.  There  always  is.  When  a  thing  is  over,  we 
can  always  see  plenty  of  things  that  we  might  have 
done  if  we'd  had  sense  enough.  Now,  don't  let's 
make  any  mistake  about  this.  Let's  find  the  best 
way — and  that  means  a  way  that  will  reach  her  and 
won't  make  further  trouble  for  you." 

In  vain  I  argued  that  he  couldn't  do  anything 
himself  in  so  short  a  time.  Berenice  would  not  see 
him — nor  read  his  letters,  neither  Helen  nor  Mr. 
Ames  would  listen  to  him,  Shafter  Blakeney  was 
no  longer  available — and  Gaveston  would  be  here 
Wednesday.  After  him  the  deluge!  He  looked 
rather  solemn,  but  insisted  that  I  must  not  take  any 
active  part  in  the  matter  at  present.  In  fact,  he 
made  me  promise  not  to  speak  to  Berenice  about  it 
to  anybody  else — until  I  heard  from  him  again. 
In  the  end  I  may  ask  more  of  you  than  you 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

will  be  willing  to  give,"  he  said,  "but  we  will  try 
everything  else  we  can  think  of  first." 

He  asked  if  he  might  telephone  to  me  to-morrow 
about  noon,  and  went  off  down-town  to  meditate, 
while  I  came  up  to  my  lone  chalet — Berenice  having 
moved  into  the  adjoining  one  with  her  mother — 
ostensibly  to  dress  for  dinner,  but  really  to  hang 
over  the  veranda  rail,  watching  the  shadows  crawl 
up  from  the  valleys  and  the  colors  blend  and  fade, 
and  to  think — think — think! 

I  wonder  whether  any  of  our  thinking  really  does 
any  good?  Sometimes  it  seems  to  help  us,  and 
sometimes  we  know  we  fail — and  are  we  all  the 
time  but  "helpless  pieces  of  the  Game  He  Plays 
upon  this  Chequerboard  of  night  and  days?"  Quien 
sabe? 

Presently  Mr.  Ames  came  along  with  flowers  for 
me,  and  some  American  magazines  that  he  thought 
might  distract  my  thoughts,  and  a  letter  from  Ned. 
Did  I  write  you  that  we  found  a  note  from  him 
awaiting  us  here  when  we  arrived  ?  In  it  he  apolo 
gized  for  not  coming  down  to  meet  us,  and  explained 
that  he  had  some  semi-official  affair  on  hand  that 
night  which  he  could  not  well  neglect,  and  that  he 
would  be  very  busy  for  several  days. 

In  this  later  note  he  invites  us  all  to  spend  Tues 
day  motoring  with  him,  and  says  something  about 
a  dinner,  later  in  the  week,  at  the  Embassy  in  Pe- 
tropolis,  where,  of  course,  he  lives.  He  seems  very 
eager  to  see  Helen,  whom  he  has  not  met  for  years. 

Mr.  Ames  was  greatly  pleased  by  all  this,  as  he 
admires  Ned  greatly,  and  hoped  Helen  would  be 

306 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

well  enough  to  accept  both  invitations,  as  well  as 
one  from  the  Garlands  for  the  twenty- seventh.  The 
Garlands  are  Americans  living  here.  Ned  told  me 
about  them  in  Santiago,  and  says  they  are  charm 
ing  people.  Mrs.  Garland  left  cards  to-day  while 
I  was  out,  and  Uncle  Beverley — I  must  cure  myself 
of  that  habit! — seems  very  much  taken  with  her 
husband. 

It  is  very  late  and  I  must  get  to  bed.  My  few 
lines  have  grown  to  many  pages,  but  it  does  help 
to  pour  it  all  out  to  you. 

Once,  years  ago,  strolling  through  a  quiet  street, 
I  came  upon  a  small  boy  who  had  attached  him 
self  to  an  iron  hitching-post.  The  post  was  hollow 
and  most  satisfactorily  resonant,  and  he  beat  upon 
it.  With  one  of  its  two  iron  rings  in  either  hand  did 
he  beat  upon  it,  and  he  kicked  it  with  his  one  free 
foot.  Unfortunately  he  had  but  the  usual  comple 
ment  of  feet  and  he  needed  one  to  stand  on,  but  I 
knew  how  he  longed  to  be  a  centipede.  Also,  he 
lifted  up  his  voice  and  yelled  lustily  the  while,  just 
for  pure  joy  in  the  sound.  After  observing  this 
phenomenon  for  a  few  minutes,  I  approached  the 
youth,  and  to  him  I  addressed  myself,  thusly: 

"What  would  you  do  if  you  couldn't  make  a 
noise?  If  you  couldn't  pound  anything,  or  kick 
anything,  or  whistle,  or  shout,  or  make  any  kind 
of  noise  at  all — what  would  you  do?" 

He  regarded  me  for  a  moment,  slow  horror  dawn 
ing  in  his  eyes.  Then  he  whispered,  awesomely: 

"Gee!     A  feller  'd  bust!" 

That's  much  the  way  I  feel  now.  I'm  like  to  bust, 
307 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

and  if  you  get  seven  letters  from  me  by  every  mail 
as  long  as  this  tension  lasts,  don't  be  surprised.  I 
know  I  may  count  on  your  patience,  too,  because 
you've  been  my  safety-valve  so  many  years. 


Rio,  June  226.. 

I  wonder  how  it  feels  to  be  sleepy  ?  I  haven't  slept 
for  a  thousand  years,  and  I  know  I  shall  never  sleep 
again. 

It  has  been  an  awful  day — the  sort  that  screws 
you  up  to  the  highest  tension,  because  there's  noth 
ing  to  do  but  wait.  Helen  has  been  too  ill  all  day 
to  be  talked  to,  though  toward  night  her  headache 
wore  away,  leaving  her  pale  and  weak  and  nervous. 
Berenice  has  studiously  avoided  me.  She  is  still 
angry  that  I  did  not  let  her  know  that  her  mother 
was  coming,  and  is  again  sullen  and  defiant,  as  she 
hasn't  been  for  weeks. 

About  noon  Perry  Waite  telephoned  to  say  that 
he  had  found  a  way  out  without  involving  me  at 
all,  and  that  I  was  to  do  nothing  and  say  nothing. 
He  wouldn't  tell  me  his  plan,  saying  that  it  would 
be  much  better  that  I  should  know  nothing  about 
it  until  it  happened.  He  seemed  very  confident, 
but  the  day  brought  no  further  developments  in 
that  direction. 

This  afternoon  Mrs.  Garland  telephoned  to  ask 
whether  some  of  us  wouldn't  like  to  go  shopping 
or  motoring  or  something.  Berenice  refused  to 
leave  her  mother,  but  by  this  time  I  was  restless 

308 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

enough  to  welcome  any  distraction,  so  I  went  down, 
and  Mrs.  Garland  met  me  at  the  end  of  the  tram 
line  with  their  big  car.  She  is  all  Ned  said  she  was 
and  more,  and  I  like  her  very  much. 

We  spent  an  hour  motoring  about  the  city,  of 
which,  up  to  that  time,  I  had  seen  very  little  except 
its  roofs.  We  went  from  end  to  end  of  the  brilliant 
Avenida,  getting  glimpses  of  narrow,  interesting  side- 
streets,  and  along  the  docks.  We  traversed  the 
beautiful  beach  boulevard  and  threaded  innumer 
able  residence  streets,  full  of  color  and  charm — 
everywhere,  except  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  the 
wonderful  green  of  tropical  trees  and  the  flaming 
blossoms  of  tropical  plants  and  vines,  against  the 
soft- tinted  walls  and  rich,  mottled  yellow-and-brown 
roofs. 

Then  she  took  me  into  crowded  little  shops  off 
crowded  little  streets,  and  we  played  with  glittering 
heaps  of  native  stones — tourmalines,  aquamarines, 
topazes,  amethysts — letting  little  streams  of  them 
trickle  through  our  fingers,  and  haggling,  as  one  does 
in  Latin  countries,  over  the  price  of  this  lot  or  that 
>  single  jewel,  ending,  of  course,  by  saying  that  we 
would  come  in  some  other  day  to  buy. 

Then  we  looked  at  feather- work,  which  here  is 
even  more  wonderful  than  that  of  Mexico,  and 
bought  green  Brazilian  beetles,  and  hung  over  piles 
of  photographs;  and  when  I  got  back  to  the  hotel 
to  dinner,  some  of  the  indigo  had  faded  out  of  me. 

In  the  evening,  Mr.  Garland,  who,  among  other 
things,  is  connected  with  the  management  of  the 
cog-wheel  road  up  the  Corcovado,  took  us  all  to  the 

309 


THE    INVOLUNTARY   CHAPERON 

summit  in  a  special  train.  Helen  insisted  that  she 
was  not  well  enough  to  go,  but  we  persuaded  her  to 
make  the  effort,  and  I  think  it  did  her  good. 

This  going  about  in  cabs  and  motors  and  private 
trains,  by- the- way,  is  not  making  me  any  more 
reconciled  to  being  yanked  by  a  subway  guard  and 
told  to  step  lively  when  I  get  home.  Of  course,  I 
realize  that  it  must  be  a  great  thing  to  live  in  a 
country  where  all  men  are  free  and  equal.  I'd  like 
to  try  it  for  a  while.  But  I  have  been  so  long  one 
of  the  downtrodden  class  that  the  civility  of  some 
of  the  servants  and  tradespeople  in  these  countries 
rather  confused  and  embarrassed  me  at  first.  It  is 
disconcerting  to  find  one's  self  involuntarily  respect 
ing  servants  because  of  their  attitude  rather  than 
magnanimously  trying  to  respect  them  in  spite  of 
it.  Now  that  I  have  grown  accustomed  to  it,  I 
shall  need  some  severe  snubbing  to  put  me  in  my 
proper  place  again  when  I  get  home — and  I  shall 
receive  it,  never  fear!  I  wish  it  might  be  gently 
borne  in  upon  our  brethren  and  sistren — and  there 
are  times  when  I  should  not  insist  too  strongly  upon 
tenderness  in  the  administration — that  freedom  and 
civility  are  not  incompatible. 

The  evening  on  the  top  of  the  Corcovado  is  one 
of  the  things  that  I  can  never  properly  describe 
to  you.  The  moon  was  almost  full  and  more  brill 
iant  than  any  northern  mind  can  imagine,  and  going 
up  through  the  forest  was  a  wonder  and  a  delight. 
Part  of  the  way  the  road  seems  fairly  to  stand  on 
end,  it  is  so  steep,  and  I  was  dreaming  off  in  the 
silver  haze  of  the  moonlight  over  the  tree-tops,  when 

310 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

all  at  once  we  came  out  on  the  peak,  and  Rio,  with 
her  twenty  thousand  electric  lights,  lay  beneath  us 
like  a  living  jewel. 

I  have  seen  electrical  displays,  and  World's  Fairs, 
and  Coney  Island  from  the  sea,  but  never,  never  have 
I  seen  anything  so  beautiful  as  Rio  at  night  from  the 
top  of  the  Corcovado.  They  say  it  is  more  brilliant 
on  a  dark  night,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  white 
flood  of  moonlight  added  a  mystery  to  the  dusk  that 
mere  blackness  would  not  have  had.  We  could 
even  see  the  convolutions  in  some  of  the  outlying 
hills,  and  Mr.  Garland  traced  for  us  the  route  that 
we  shall  probably  take  to-morrow  when  we  go  mo 
toring  with  Ned,  but  always  I  came  back  to  that 
glittering,  shimmering,  gleaming  wonder  of  a  city 
below  us. 

I  think  I  have  written  you  that  the  Corcovado  is 
about  two  thousand  feet  high,  and  from  the  place 
where  the  train  stopped  we  had  to  climb  steps  cut 
in  the  rock  to  the  uttermost  pinnacle,  just  large 
enough  for  the  little  pavilion  crowning  it.  From 
this  one  can  descend  a  few  steps  and  walk  out  on 
a  ledge  to  a  small,  low-walled,  terrace  sort  of  place, 
where  one  absolutely  seems  to  be  suspended  over 
the  earth  like  a  bird.  On  that  side  it  is  a  sheer  drop 
of  seventeen  hundred  feet,  so  Mr.  Garland  told  me, 
to  the  first  outward  slope  of  the  mountain. 

I  was  hanging  over  this  brink,  longing  for  five 
minutes  of  solitude  and  silence,  when  Mr.  Garland 
led  all  the  others  back  to  the  pavilion  to  show  them 
something  on  the  other  side  of  the  peak,  and  I  was 
left  alone. 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Below  me,  Rio,  a  perfect  thing  in  that  hour, 
flashed  her  thousands  of  lights  in  a  visible  fulfilment 
of  a  great  human  ideal,  and  Nictheroy,  her  neigh 
bor,  twinkled  a  response.  Between  them  lay  the 
shimmering  bay,  dotted  with  islands;  all  about 
pale  mountain  wraiths  reared  fantastic  crests  in  the 
paler  dusk,  looking  over  the  ephemeral  brightness 
of  man's  handiwork  to  the  infinity  of  the  ocean, 
while  overhead,  through  the  blue  night  heavens, 
swung  the  serene  and  glorious  Southern  Cross.  I 
felt  like  a  disembodied  spirit,  awed  but  unafraid,  face 
to  face  with  the  Great  Mystery — which,  after  all,  is 
life,  not  death. 

And  in  that  moment  I  knew  that  I  never  could 
marry  Beverley  Ames.  Once  more  I  saw  clearly, 
and  knew  that  life  and  love  were  infinite  and  eternal 
things,  not  to  be  disprized  or  sullied,  and  that  upon 
him  to  whom  is  granted  the  vision  falls  the  com 
mand  to  follow  it  and  to  accept  nothing  less.  I  had 
waited  for  a  sign  from  heaven — and  it  had  come. 

I  told  him  on  the  way  home,  walking  back  from 
the  station  to  the  hotel.  He  seemed  surprised,  but 
was  very  quiet  and  kind  about  it,  as  of  course  he 
would  be,  and  tried  not  to  let  me  see  that  I  had 
hurt  him.  I  still  hope  that  I  haven't — much — and 
that  when  he  gets  back  into  the  orderly  procession 
of  his  life,  his  former  habit  of  thought  will  assert 
itself,  and  this  will  cease  to  be  a  painful  memory. 

If  it  doesn't — oh,  Marion,  do  motives  make  any 
difference,  after  all  ?  "  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know 
them,"  it  was  said,  and  is  it  going  to  make  any  dif 
ference  to  Beverley  Ames  that  I  meant  to  give  him 

312 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

nice,  friendly,  commonplace  apples  instead  of  the 
figs  he  asked  for  or  the  thistles  he  has  plucked? 

I  shall  be  glad  to  see  Ned  to-morrow.  I  think  he 
will  rest  me.  Not  that  he  knows  anything  about 
any  of  this,  but  somehow,  just  talking  to  Ned  about 
anything  always  helps  me  straighten  out  my  tangles. 
He's  so  big  and  sane  and  human!  Though  I  didn't 
profit  much  by  seeing  him  in  Santiago,  did  I  ?  Per 
haps  I'm  past  even  his  help  now! 

I  wonder  wherein  I  have  changed  so  much  that 
an  old  friend — oh,  I'm  going  to  bed!  What's  the 
use  of  burning  good  midnight  oil  in  the  production 
of  vapors  like  that? 

I  don't  know  what  time  o'  day  it  is  with  you,  but 
whatever  it  is,  I  hope  you're  sound  asleep.  That's 
the  best  thing  I  could  wish  anybody  at  this  moment ! 
*  *  * 

Marion  dear,  the  heavens  are  falling.  Most  of  the 
stars  I  ever  had  to  guide  me  have  tumbled  down, 
and  those  that  remain  have  shifted  so  that  I  don't 
know  where  they  are  leading  me.  I  have  looked 
very  deep  into  life  to-day,  dear,  and  it  has  left  me 
happy  and  sorrowful — and  dazed — and  awed — and 
it's  the  only  thing  that  ever  happened  to  me  that  I 
can't  tell  you  about. 

Didn't  I  write  you  from  somewhere  near  Panama 
that  I  knew  I  was  going  toward  a  great  change  ?  It 
has  come.  The  road  to  it  has  been  long,  and  I  had 
almost  forgotten  to  look  for  it,  but  it  came  upon 
me  here  in  Rio.  It  came  to-day,  and  I  am  writing 
to  you  now — not  because  I  can  tell  you  about  it — 
or  about  anything — but  because  I  must  take  hold  of 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

something  I  know  to  steady  myself — and  you  are 
the  only  thing  in  all  creation  that  I  am  sure  of ! 

I  have  been  sitting  out  on  the  veranda  all  night, 
watching  these  brilliant  southern  skies — and  think 
ing — until  all  my  world  reels  and  I've  got  to  get  hold 
of  something — so  I  have  come  in  to  write  to  you. 
You  won't  mind  if  I  am  incoherent  and  crazy — and 
maybe  it  will  steady  me  to  write. 

I'll  try  to  tell  you  what  we  have  seen  to-day — for 
we  have  been  motoring  through  the  most  radiantly 
beautiful  country — and  perhaps  that  may  help  me 
see  straight  again.  Not  that  I  don't  see  some  things 
straight  enough.  That's  what  it  is.  To-day  every 
thing  has  been  so  clear  that — 

Marion,  did  you  ever  see  yourself — your  whole 
heart  and  soul  and  life — in  an  entirely  new  light — 
all  in  one  blinding  flash?  That  is  what  happened 
to  me  to-day — and  it  has  shaken  me — stunned  me — 
blinded  me —  And  I've  got  to  get  hold  of  myself. 
I've  got  to,  because  Gaveston  comes  to-morrow — 
really  to-day,  for  already  streaks  of  light  are  com 
ing  up  over  the  mountains — and  I  must  be  ready 
to  meet  whatever  the  day  may  bring  forth.  I  know 
now  that  I  must  save  that  child  from  him,  if  I  have 
to  break  every  promise  I  ever  made  and  smash  the 
whole  decalogue  to  do  it! 

Perry  telephoned  me  to-night — last  night,  I  mean 
— when  we  got  home  from  the  motor  trip — and 
seemed  rather  troubled  that  nothing  had  "hap 
pened"  yet,  but  said  it  would  surely  be  all  right  in 
the  morning.  I  tried  to  pull  myself  together 
enough  to  make  him  see  that  I  must  tell  Berenice 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

the  truth — or  Helen,  or  somebody — but  he  said 
Gaveston  could  not  possibly  get  through  the  cus 
toms  and  find  us  before  ten  or  eleven  o'clock,  and 
that  if  nothing  had  happened  by  noon,  we  would 
decide  upon  some  other  course. 

I  don't  understand  what  he  is  trying  to  do  or 
what  he  can  expect — but  he  still  seemed  so  positive 
that  he  had  found  the  key  to  the  solution  that  I 
acquiesced  for  the  moment. 

I  can't  tell  you  what  we  have  seen  to-day.  I 
thought  perhaps  I  could  —  a  little — while  it  is  all 
fresh  in  my  mind — but  I  can't.  I  shall  have  to 
wait  until  it  has  dulled  and  shrunk  to  the  limits  of 
my  vocabulary. 

I  remember  now  that  I  began  by  warning  Ned 
that  Helen  and  I  had  both  driven  from  Sorrento 
to  Amalfi  and  thence  to  Cava.  He  smiled  and  said : 
"Wait."  I  thought  he  had  forgotten  that  Amalfi 
drive  —  but  he  hadn't.  Somebody  has  called  that 
"The  Dream  Road."  To  me  this  one  will  always 
be  The  Road  of  Supreme  Revelation. 

This  whole  South  American  trip  has  been  full  of 
extraordinary  interest  and  beauty,  but  from  it  three 
big  experiences  will  stand  clearly  forth  in  my  memory 
as  long  as  I  live — the  afternoon  in  the  Culebra  Cut, 
the  Andean  jaunt,  and  this  motor-drive  in  the  hills 
about  Rio.  I  felt  this — I  was  deeply  stirred  by 
the  transcendent  beauty  of  it — even  before  the  great 
revelation  of  the  day  broke  upon  me — the  thing 
that  has  shaken  all  my  life  into  a  new  pattern, 
like  a  kaleidoscope.  I'm  glad  I  knew  from  the 
very  first  that  it  was  one  of  the  rare  jewels  set  in 


life's  long  chain  —  a  day  to  be  held  forever  pre 
cious. 

When  we  started — about  nine — in  a  big,  power 
ful  car,  the  hills  were  still  folded  in  the  morning 
haze,  but  it  gradually  vanished  as  we  hummed 
through  the  city  and  took  a  road  that  winds  and 
climbs  and  twists  its  way  to  a  place  called  Tijuca,* 
now  boring  through  heavy-foliaged  trees,  now  open 
ing  for  a  view  of  some  abrupt — almost  bizarre — 
peak,  now  disclosing  the  blue,  islanded,  mountain- 
girt  bay. 

Sometimes  tall  bamboos  made  gothic  arches  over 
us,  sometimes  we  were  buried  in  a  lush,  fragrant, 
green-shadowed  jungle  of  ferns  and  palms  and  flow 
ering  trees  and  orchid-grown  things  we  couldn't 
name,  and  sometimes  we  whizzed  along  a  ledge  cut 
in  the  mountain-side,  looking  down  on  the  surf  far 
below,  breaking  on  sands  as  white  as  sugar. 

Once  we  stopped  in  a  gorge  to  watch  a  lovely  cas 
cade  gush  and  tumble  over  a  rocky  wall.  Once, 
when  we  paused  at  a  little  wayside  place,  a  gray- 
haired,  toothless  old  negro  took  off  his  hat  to  Ned 
and  said  he  had  seen  him  out  there  before,  on  horse 
back.  Ned  gave  him  a  coin  and  he  remained  un 
covered  before  us,  saying  that  now  he  should  always 
remember  us  all.  And  once  we  met  a  white  flock 
of  girls  coming  from  church  along  the  shadowy  road, 
wearing  soft,  floating,  first-communion  veils  and 
carrying  candles. 

Occasionally  we  left  the  car  and  followed  a  foot- 

*  Pronounced  Ti-zhoo-ka. 
316 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

path  into  the  woods,  through  cool,  green  lights,  be 
side  trickling  waters,  where  wild  begonias  sprangled, 
blooming,  over  rocks,  and  vines  and  orchids  hung 
thick  in  the  trees. 

And  all  the  time  Ned  kept  reminding  us  that  this 
was  midwinter,  when  foliage  was  scanty  and  we 
must  not  look  for  many  flowers.  He  said  that  he 
first  took  this  drive  in  summer,  when  myriads  of 
brilliant  moths,  like  winged  blossoms,  languorously 
waved  their  way  among  the  branches  and  the  air 
was  heavy  with  fragrance. 

Finally  we  came  to  a  place,  high  up  on  a  moun 
tain-side,  where  there  is  a  pavilion,  and  there  we 
stopped  for  luncheon.  A  party  of  laborers  had  been 
there  before  us  and  had  left  the  remains  of  their 
meal;  but  when  they  saw  us,  they  came  and  gath 
ered  up  their  papers  and  scraps.  Ned  thanked  them 
very  courteously,  and  they  as  courteously  assured 
him  that  it  was  nothing.  Later  he  went  to  them 
asking  for  a  glass,  as  we  had  forgotten  to  take  any 
cups,  and  they  washed  one  clean  and  brought  it  to 
us  full  of  fresh  mountain  water.  When  he  returned 
it  he  took  them  a  bottle  of  beer,  and  they  all  took 
off  their  hats  and  thanked  him  and  wished  us  a 
pleasant  drive.  It  was  very  pretty. 

I  haven't  said  anything  about  the  view  from  that 
place.  I  can't.  It's  too  big  for  me.  It  is  a  vast 
panorama  of  warm,  green,  forest-clad  slopes  rising 
from  a  vivid,  sparkling  sea — of  craggy,  violent, 
rock-ribbed  peaks  wrapped  in  soft  haze — of  intense 
foregrounds  and  tender  distances — and  unutterable 
beauty. 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

I  think  the  Islands  of  the  Blessed  must  be  like 
that,  where  those  whom  the  gods  love  dwell  in  ever 
lasting  joy.  Just  looking  at  it  from  without  swings 
one  very  far  from  earth  and  breathlessly  near  to 
heaven. 

It  was  there — while  I  brooded  over  that  beauty — 
contrasting  its  tremendous  emotional  pull  with  the 
mystical  revelations  of  the  moonlit  night  on  the 
Corcovado — that  suddenly  everything  cleared  for 
me  and  I  saw  life — whole.  No  other  moment — not 
even  the  moment  of  death,  I  think — will  ever  be 
to  me  what  that  was. 

But  I  don't  yet  know  why  I  have  been  so  dull — 
so  blind — so  dead —  And  to  think  that  I  might 
have  gone  on  all  the  rest  of  my  life  never  knowing — 
never  understanding!  To  think  that  it  took  an 
experience  like  this  to  teach  me! 

After  that  we  went  on — miles  and  miles — hours 
and  hours  of  it — I  can't  tell  you  about  them.  I 
haven't  really  told  you  about  any  of  it.  I  never 
can.  Even  before  we  got  to  that  place,  I  had  been 
lifted  out  of  the  realms  of  speech — and  after  that 
I  didn't  even  try  to  talk — though  there  was  much 
more  of  it.  The  others  thought  I  was  tired — and  I 
let  them. 

We  got  back  about  four,  I  think.  That  makes 
seven  hours.  You  know  what  that  means,  over 
good  roads,  in  a  powerful  car — and  every  mile  of  it 
indescribable  beauty. 

But  I  have  found  myself,  Marion — after  all  these 
years  when  I  was  so  sure  I  knew!  I  have  found  my 
self  at  last.  I  am  infinitely  richer  for  the  discovery 

318 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

— but  something  has  gone  from  me,  too — and  will 
never  come  back. 

The  direction  and  all  the  lights  of  my  life  have 
changed  in  this  one  day.  For  me  now  it  will  be 
always  afternoon.  The  morning  brightness  toward 
which  I  have  always  looked  has  faded.  My  shadow 
falls  from  the  west. 

Rio,  June  25th. 

Do  you  remember  that  meteoric,  reprehensible, 
utterly  irrepressible  girl  at  boarding-school,  who, 
when  she  was  annoyed,  said:  "Gosh  double-golly, 
double-golly  gosh  darn?"  Our  association  with  her 
was  brief  but  spicy,  and  I  have  never  forgotten  her. 

During  the  past  twenty-four  hours  I  have  thought 
of  her  often  and  with  gratitude.  Once,  when  she 
was  exasperated  beyond  endurance,  she  said: 
"  Hellitydeviltycussitydamn!"  She  was  severely  dis 
ciplined,  as  I  dare  say  I  deserve  to  be — anyway,  I'm 
getting  it — but  at  least  she  had  known  the  joy  of 
expression. 

I  have  always  wanted  to  alter  Doctor  Holmes'  lines 
—they  are  Doctor  Holmes',  aren't  they? — beginning: 
"Alas  for  those  who  never  sing,"  to  a  lament  for 
those  who  "die  with  all  their  swearwords  in  'em." 
I  think  ingrowing  profanity  must  be  a  lot  more  dis 
tressful  than  music. 

Still,  the  burden  of  my  song  is  not  all  swearwords 
by  any  means.  There  is  a  mighty  triumphal  shout 
arising  from  my  heart  to  high  heaven,  and  a  paean 
of  thanksgiving.  And  the  rest  of  it,  like  everything 

319 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

else  in  life,  has  its  funny  side.  When  I  can  forget 
the  sting  of  my  wounds  long  enough,  I  laugh — which 
does  not  diminish  my  offence. 

Also,  my  occupation  being  gone  and  my  temper 
somewhat  ruffled,  I  am  preparing  to  pack  my  doll- 
clothes  and  go  home  by  the  first  ship — which  hap 
pens  to  be  an  English  steamer  sailing  on  the  first — 
leaving  Helen  and  Berenice  to  follow  later,  prob 
ably  with  Mr.  Ames. 

There  will  be  a  direct  steamer  for  New  York  on 
the  fourth,  which  will  take  this  letter  and  might 
take  me,  but  it  happens  to  be  one  of  the  smaller  and 
less  comfortable  ships  of  the  line,  and  anyway,  I 
think  that  a  few  days  in  London — the  "  good,  gray 
city  "  —  among  things  that  have  endured  forever, 
would  be  grateful  to  me  just  now.  I  find  myself 
rather  longing  for  its  orderliness  and  age  and  quiet. 

Gaveston  arrived,  as  we  expected,  yesterday 
morning,  and  on  the  same  steamer  came  the  Bander- 
snatch.  Which,  as  Mr.  Kipling  occasionally  re 
marks,  is  another  story.  The  Bandersnatch,  by- 
the-way,  doesn't  like  me,  and  sweetens  her  spicy 
remarks  to  me  with  a  toothful  smile,  much  like  the 
tiger's.  Of  course,  both  came  to  this  hotel.  There 
are  not  so  many  good  ones  in  Rio  that  we  were  hard 
to  find. 

Before  they  came,  however,  I  had  a  long  talk 
with  Helen,  which  was  less  frank  than  I  had  in 
tended  because  of  Perry  Waite's  insistence  that  I 
should  keep  my  hands  off  the  reins,  leaving  them 
wholly  to  him. 

He  seemed  much  disturbed  when  I  told  him  over 

320 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

the  telephone,  early  in  the  morning,  that  the  situa 
tion  remained  unchanged,  but  protested  vigorously 
against  my  making  any  move  in  the  matter.  I  said 
that  it  seemed  to  me  too  serious  a  business  to  take 
any  chances  or  to  quibble  about  side  issues  at  the 
eleventh  hour,  and  he  reminded  me  that  he  had 
more  at  stake  than  anybody  except  Berenice. 

He  stoutly  maintained  his  right  and  his  ability  to 
handle  his  own  campaign,  but  finally  said  that  if  his 
present  line  of  action  did  not  develop  results  by 
noon,  he  would  ask  my  help.  Still  dissatisfied,  but 
impressed,  nevertheless,  by  his  confidence,  I  prom 
ised  to  hold  my  peace  until  that  time,  and  went  up 
to  find  Helen,  who  had  regained  her  balance  a  lit 
tle,  but  was  still  pale  and  depressed  and  very 
nervous. 

She  said  she  realized  perfectly  that  I  had  acted 
conscientiously  throughout,  but  she  thought  very 
mistakenly.  In  fact,  she  could  not  understand  my 
position  at  all.  Why  I  should  insist  upon  bringing 
the  Waite  boy  into  the  affair  again,  when  we  had 
taken  all  this  long  journey  just  to  cure  Berenice  of 
her  foolish  fancy  for  him,  she  could  not,  for  the 
life  of  her,  see.  Neither  could  she  understand  why 
I  insisted  that  the  child  was  still  in  love  with  this 
youth,  when  she  herself  declared  that  she  wanted 
to  marry  somebody  else. 

Also,  though  she  and  Dick  didn't  want  Berenice 
to  marry  anybody  at  present,  if  she  was  bent  on 
doing  it,  they  would  much  prefer  that  she  should 
choose  a  man  of  mature  years  and  assured  social 
position,  as  Mr,  Gaveston  seemed  to  be,  rather  than 

321 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

an  unknown  and  untried  young  upstart  like  this 
Waite.  I  asked  her  what  assurance  she  had  that 
Gaveston  was  a  desirable  suitor,  and  she  replied 
again  that  at  least  we  had  learned  nothing  against 
him.  Nor  could  she  see  that  I  had  any  explanation 
whatever  to  offer  of  my  attitude  in  the  matter, 
except  that  I  had  taken  an  unreasoning  dislike  to 
the  man  in  the  first  place,  and  consequently  never 
had  been  quite  fair  to  him. 

She  was  much  impressed  by  the  tale  of  his  suffer 
ings  in  crossing  the  Cordillera,  as  related  by  Bere 
nice,  as  well  as  by  the  devotion  he  displayed  in  the 
orchid  episode  when  we  left  Buenos  Aires.  Bere 
nice  had  evidently  reported  the  Santiago  ruction, 
also,  and  Helen  wanted  to  know  why  I  had  cham 
pioned  Gaveston 's  cause  on  that  occasion  and  op 
posed  him  so  steadily  in  my  letters  to  her. 

In  all  of  which  she  was  not  sharp  or  impatient, 
but  sweet  and  troubled  and  a  little  plaintive,  as 
you  know  Helen  would  be. 

I  explained  as  well  as  I  could  that  my  insistence 
upon  Berenice's  rights  as  an  individual  did  not 
necessarily  imply  approval  of  the  particular  course 
she  chose  at  the  moment,  and  added  a  few  timely 
remarks  upon  the  folly  of  trying  to  coerce  a  girl  like 
her  daughter. 

Incidentally,  I  mentioned  that  if  she  wanted  a 
cogent  reason  for  Berenice's  determination  to  marry 
— to  marry  almost  anybody  who  offered,  in  fact — 
she  need  not  look  farther  than  the  yoke  and  goad  of 
family  authority,  and  she  complained  that  one  would 
think,  to  hear  me,  that  she  and  Dick  were  perfect 

322 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

ogres,  whereas  everybody  knew  that  they  had  al 
ways  been  altogether  too  indulgent  to  Berenice.  I 
suggested — and  I  tried  to  do  it  very  gently — that 
sometimes  the  love  that  pampers  the  body  of  the 
beloved,  still  tyrannizes  over  the  spirit,  confining 
and  despoiling  it,  whereupon  Helen  cried  and  said 
nobody  had  ever  said  such  things  to  her  before — 
which  is  probably  true.  And  that  is  where  we  were 
when  Gaveston  arrived. 

Berenice,  who  had  been  flushed  with  excitement 
and  as  restless  as  a  caged  panther  all  the  morning, 
lost  color  and  met  him  rather  shyly  when  it  came 
to  the  point,  and  he  seemed  decidedly  taken  aback 
to  find  Helen  here.  He  moved  very  cautiously,  and 
both  he  and  the  Bandersnatch  seemed  to  be  taking 
observations  constantly,  in  an  effort  to  find  which 
way  the  wind  lay  now. 

Helen's  attitude  was  a  model  of  non-committal 
dignity,  but  I  could  see  that  she  was  prepossessed 
in  his  favor  by  his  manner,  which  I  had  warned  her 
was  irreproachable  when  he  chose  to  make  it  so. 
The  only  thing  she  didn't  like  was  his  association 
with  Mrs.  Rankin,  to  whom  she  turned  an  icy 
shoulder.  It  takes  more  than  a  little  thing  like 
that  to  disconcert  the  Bandersnatch,  but  Gaveston 
instantly  felt  the  chill  and  conducted  himself  ac 
cordingly.  Thereafter,  it  was  obvious — but  not  too 
obvious — that  his  attentions  to  Mrs.  Rankin  were 
only  those  of  any  well-bred  man  to  a  woman  whom 
circumstance  has  thrown  in  his  way,  and  the  im 
pression  was  skilfully  conveyed  that  the  lady  was 
our  friend  rather  than  his.  Later  in  the  day,  he 

323 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

told  Helen,  quite  casually,  that  he  had  been  much 
surprised  to  find  Mrs.  Rankin  a  fellow-passenger 
when  he  left  Buenos  Aires. 

The  Bandersnatch  recognized  her  cue  and  took  it 
— but  she  didn't  enjoy  the  situation  a  bit,  and  evi 
dently  charged  the  responsibility  for  it  up  to  me, 
for  she  presently  told  me  how  worn  and  exhausted 
I  looked,  and  solicitously  hoped  that  I  hadn't  had 
bad  news  or  been  disappointed  in  any  way.  Then 
she  inquired  how  dear  Mr.  Ames  was  now,  and 
murmured : 

"How  much  you  must  have  enjoyed  all  these 
days  since  leaving  Buenos  Aires,  when  you  have 
had  him  quite  to  yourself,  dear!" 

Meow!  Nevertheless,  I  am  disappointed  in  the 
Bandersnatch.  Apparently  she  loses  her  head  with 
her  temper.  I  gave  her  credit  for  more  sense, 
though  at  her  best  she  is  hardly  to  be  called  subtle. 

Meanwhile,  Berenice  had  sufficiently  recovered 
her  courage  to  smile  faintly  upon  her  suitor.  She 
had  also  grasped  the  fact  that  her  mother,  removed 
from  Dick's  influence,  was  as  wax  in  her  hands,  and 
therefore  she  cast  occasional  mocking,  triumphant 
glances  at  me,  and  half  forgave  me  for  being  instru 
mental  in  bringing  Helen  down  here  for  the  joy  of 
defeating  me  with  my  own  weapons. 

Gaveston  either  discovered  or  was  told  that  there 
was  no  place  about  the  hotel  where  he  could  see 
Berenice  alone  and  press  his  wooing  undisturbed, 
and  he  suggested — evidently  encouraged  by  Helen's 
neutral  manner — that  we  all  take  a  walk  in  the 
afternoon,  saying  that  he  felt  the  need  of  exercise 

324 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

after  five  days  on  the  ship.  Mrs.  Rankin  regretted 
that  a  business  engagement  in  town  would  prevent 
her  accompanying  us,  and  said  there  was  "a  per 
fectly  ideal  walk"  at  a  place  called  Paineiras,*  half 
way  up  the  Corcovado  road.  Helen  demurred  a 
little,  but  yielded,  of  course,  to  Berenice's  pleading. 

Helen  always  was  sweet  and  adaptable,  but  I  am 
just  beginning  to  realize  how  completely  her  life 
with  Dick  has  deprived  her  of  any  power  of  self- 
assertion.  She  seems  to  have  no  mind  of  her  own 
at  all.  But  before  she  married  a  "magerful  man" 
she  had  a  magerful  mother,  and  now  both  live  in 
her  magerful  daughter,  and  as  Helen  loves  peace, 
perhaps  it  is  small  wonder,  after  all,  that  she  hasn't 
developed  much  strength  of  spine. 

At  Berenice's  suggestion,  she  asked  Mr.  Gaveston 
to  join  us  at  breakfast,  and  we  all  went  down  with 
our  hats  on,  as  we  had  to  leave  the  hotel  soon  after 
one  to  catch  the  train  up  the  mountain. 

As  we  passed  through  the  office,  I  noticed  a  tele 
graph  messenger  at  the  door,  and  a  moment  later 
the  proprietor  approached  us  with  a  cablegram  for 
Berenice.  Helen  paled,  and  gasped: 

"Your  father!" 

She  would  have  taken  the  paper  from  Berenice's 
hands,  but  the  girl  drew  away,  and  we  saw  all  the 
color  fade  from  her  face  and  lips  and  sweep  back 
in  a  glorious  wave  as  she  read  the  message  twice 
through.  Then  she  looked  at  me — and  never  have 
I  seen  such  radiance  in  a  human  countenance.  My 

*  Pronounced  Py-ndir-as. 
325 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

heart  began  its  paean  right  then,  for  though  I  didn't 
know  what  it  was  all  about,  I  did  know  that  the 
advance  of  the  enemy  was  checked.  Of  course,  my 
first  thought  was  of  Shafter  Blakeney,  who  had 
saved  the  day  for  us  before. 

Something  of  my  eagerness  must  have  been  writ 
ten  in  my  face,  however,  for  suddenly  the  glory  died 
out  of  hers.  Suspicion — reproach — I  couldn't  read 
her  expression  at  the  moment,  but  again  she  turned 
deathly  white,  and  she  crushed  the  paper  in  her 
hand  with  a  little  exclamation. 

"Berenice!  Tell  me!  Your  father!"  wailed  Helen. 

"  No,  mother,  it  isn't  about  father.  It  isn't  about 
— anything  at  all.  It's  just — from  one  of  the  girls 
at  home." 

"Then  why  are  you  so  pale?  Why  should  any 
of  the  girls  cable  you?  I  insist  upon  seeing  it!" 
But  Berenice  crumpled  it  in  her  hand  and  put  up 
her  chin. 

"Pale?  Am  I  pale?"  she  asked,  unevenly. 
"Why,  I — it  startled  me,  I  suppose — getting  a 
cablegram,  I  mean.  I  never  did  before.  You 
wouldn't  understand,  mother.  One  of  the  girls 
wanted  me  to  know — she  wanted  to  tell  me  some 
thing  in  a  hurry,  I  mean.  It  was  important — that 
is,  of  course,  it  doesn't  matter  at  all,"  her  eyes 
blazed  defiance  at  me,  "but  she  thought —  Oh,  I 
can't  tell  you — I  mean,  there  isn't  time.  Let's  go  in 
to  lunch."  She  was  trembling  and  her  voice  shook, 
but  she  managed  to  laugh,  and  Helen  led  the 
way  to  the  table,  saying  something  about  school 
girl  absurdities.  When  her  mother's  back  was 

326 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

turned,  Berenice  shot  a  black  glance  at  me,  and 
whispered : 

"This  is  more  of  your  work,  I  suppose?" 

"  I  give  you  my  word  it  is  not,"  I  returned — and 
blessed  Perry  Waite  for  his  foresight.  "I  don't 
even  know  whom  it  is  from."  For  a  moment  we 
stood  still,  looking  straight  into  each  other's  eyes, 
Gaveston  behind  us.  Then  her  face  softened. 

"Don't  you?  I  thought  you  had —  But  who 
did?  Why  should  she—?" 

I  gently  pushed  her  toward  the  table,  saying  we 
would  talk  it  over  later,  and  resolved  never  again 
to  doubt  the  extent  or  efficacy  of  Perry  Waite 's  re 
sources.  But  it  must  have  cost  the  lad  something 
in  cable  tolls! 

Before  we  had  finished  the  cold  meat  and  salad 
with  which  a  breakfast  always  begins  in  these 
countries,  I  was  called  to  the  telephone,  and  Perry's 
anxious  voice  said : 

"  Hello,  Mrs.  Pomeroy.  Anything  happened  yet  ?" 
I  told  him  that  a  cablegram  had  just  happened,  and 
he  cried:  "Bully  for  Meta!  She  must  have  been 
off  on  a  visit  or  something,  but  I  knew  she  wouldn't 
fail!  How  about  it?  Did  it  hit  the  target?" 

I  replied  that  I  thought  it  had  made  a  bull's-eye, 
though  I  couldn't  be  quite  sure  yet.  He  laughed, 
and  said  he  would  come  out  during  the  afternoon 
to  investigate,  whereupon  I  naturally  told  him  that 
he  would  find  us  out,  as  Mr.  Gaveston  had  invited 
us  all  to  go  to  Paineiras. 

"Paineiras!  Of  all  places!  The  deuce  he  has!" 
— which  was  an  exclamation  that  I  understood  bet- 

327 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

ter  later.  "Do  you  mind  telling  me  who's  going?" 
I  told  him.  "Oh,  you  and  Mrs.  Ames,  Berenice 
and  himself,  eh?  H'm!  All  right.  Thank  you. 
Think  you'll  be  back  by  five?"  I  said  I  thought  we 
would,  he  thanked  me  again,  and  that  was  all. 

Berenice  and  Helen  looked  at  me  rather  sharply 
when  I  returned  to  the  table,  but  I  maintained  a 
serene  and  untroubled  demeanor,  and  in  due  time 
we  took  the  tram  to  the  upper  end  of  the  line,  where 
it  connects  with  the  road  up  the  Corcovado. 

Berenice  had  been  silent  throughout  breakfast, 
and  after  we  started  out  managed  always  to  keep 
her  mother  or  me  between  herself  and  Gaveston. 
She  pulled  at  the  ends  of  a  scarf  she  wore,  and  bit 
her  lips,  alternately  flushing  and  paling;  her  eyes 
were  too  bright  and  her  voice  too  sharp,  and  she 
was  obviously  agitated.  At  first,  Gaveston  rather 
enjoyed  this,  I  think,  as  it  lent  zest  to  the  final 
chase,  but  he  presently  perceived  that  it  was  some 
thing  more  than  the  feminine  instinct  of  flight,  and 
watched  her  rather  uneasily. 

When  we  reached  Paineiras,  midway  up  the 
mountain,  he  fell  into  step  beside  her,  protesting: 

"You  haven't  said  three  words  to  me,  d'ye  know? 
Aren't  you  going  to  tell  me  what  you've  been  doing 
since  I  saw  you?" 

She  laughed  nervously,  and  faltered  something 
about  giving  him  an  opportunity  to  talk  to  her 
mother,  whom  she  wanted  him  to  know,  whereupon 
he  inquired  lightly,  but  with  meaning,  whether  he 
might  interpret  that  as  permission  to  speak  to  her 
mother  about  the  things  that  lay  nearest  his  heart. 

328 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

She  blushed  and  stammered  and  pretended  not  to 
understand,  and  finally  begged  him  to  go  on  with 
Helen,  "for  just  a  little  way." 

If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  distress  in  her  eyes,  all 
this  might  have  been  the  pretty  flutter  and  shrink 
ing  of  a  maiden  on  the  point  of  yielding.  He  chose 
to  interpret  it  so,  at  any  rate,  and  laughingly  agreed. 

"Very  good,"  said  he.  "I  leave  you  to  Mrs. 
Pomeroy — who  has  so  vigorously  affirmed  your  right 
to  follow  always  the  dictates  of  your  own  spirit," 
— a  significant  reminder,  under  the  circumstances. 
"But  remember,  I  shall  claim  you  for  the  whole  of 
the  walk  back.  Is  it  a  promise?" 

She  nodded,  and  he  strolled  on  with  Helen,  along 
the  most  alluring  path  ever  made  by  mortal  man. 
I  knew  then  why  Perry  had  said  "Paineiras,  of  all 
places!" 

It  wanders  along — that  path — beside  the  little 
aqueduct,  which  is  in  use  here  and  more  than  ever 
a  thing  of  beauty,  for  it  is  low  enough  so  that  one 
can  see  the  clear  stream  of  water  running  down, 
and  is  the  lovely,  soft,  pinkish  red  so  common  in 
Rio,  with  vivid  and  velvety  mosses  and  tiny,  lacy 
ferns  and  lichens  growing  over  it.  The  path,  with 
the  aqueduct,  follows  the  contour  of  the  hills,  and 
of  course  winds  and  climbs  continually,  through  a 
forest  of  palms  and  tree-ferns  and  tall,  tendril-draped 
trees  and  broad-leafed  southern  plants,  sometimes 
with  wonderful  glimpses  of  mountain  or  sea  across 
the  green  tree- tops  of  some  sheer  dropping  gorge, 
sometimes  with  the  murmur  of  unseen  surf  rolling 
up  from  the  beach  far  below,  always  with  the  cool 

329 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

trickle  of  water  in  the  aqueduct  and  the  warm, 
damp  smell  of  the  woods. 

We  walked  for  a  little  time  in  silence,  dropping 
behind  Helen  and  Gaveston.  Then,  when  they  had 
disappeared  beyond  the  next  curve  and  we  were 
out  of  sight  of  the  hotel,  she  asked,  in  a  perfectly 
level  tone,  that  she  still  could  not  hold  quite  steady : 

"Mrs.  Pomeroy,  don't  you  know  anything  about 
this?" 

"I  know  what  you  told  your  mother,"  I  replied. 

"Is  that  all  you  know?"  I  hesitated  an  instant, 
and  before  I  could  frame  a  reply,  she  plunged  on. 
"Don't  you  know  that  Perry  Waite  is  in  Rio?" 

"Yes— I  know  that." 

"You  have  seen  him!"  she  flashed,  stopping 
short. 

"Yes." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  I  had  heard  he  was  engaged  to 
Meta  Carstairs?  Oh,  you  did!  You  did!  You 
can't  deny  it!  You  talked  me  over — you  discussed 
me — with  him!  You  told — what  else  did  you  tell 
him?  Tell  me  this  instant!  What  else?" 

"Berenice,  if  you  will  listen — "  I  began — and  at 
that  moment  Perry  Waite  came  around  the  curve 
behind  her.  Of  course,  my  face  changed,  and  she 
whirled,  to  find  him  almost  at  her  elbow. 

"Berenice!"  he  cried,  and  held  out  his  hands  to 
her.  But  she  backed  up  against  the  rosy,  lichen- 
covered  aqueduct  and  laid  hold  of  it  upon  either 
side,  staring  first  at  him  and  then  at  me,  and  defy 
ing  us  both. 

" Oh!"  she  gasped.     "  So  this  is  what  you  planned, 


THE     ROSY,     LICHEN-COVERED     AQUEDUCT 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

is  it?  To  fool  me!  To  trap  me'.  To  make  me 
listen!  Well,  I  won't!  You  haven't  gained  any 
thing,  I  can  tell  you  that!  You're  like  all  the  rest! 
You  think  you  can  talk  me  over  and  arrange  every 
thing  for  me,  and  then  force  me  into  it!  Well,  you 
can't!" 

"Berenice,  listen,"  he  said,  very  quietly. 

"I  will  not  listen!     I  will  not  be  trapped  like  a 
rabbit!     I  will  not  be  discussed  and  dissected  and— 
I  tell  you,  I  won't  stand  it!     I  suppose  you  don't 
know,   either,    why  Meta  Carstairs  cabled   to   me 
this  morning?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  cabled  to  her  and  asked  her  to." 

"Oh!  You  admit  it!  You  talked  me  over  be 
tween  you — you  two — and  then  you  cabled  to  her 
that  my  heart  was  broken  because  somebody  said 
you  were  engaged  to  her,  and  begged  her  to  relieve 
my  suffering!  I  tore  up  your  letter  unread — I  re 
fused  to  see  you  when  you  called — and  then  you 
dared  to  do  that!  Now  I'll  tell  you  just  how  much 
I  cared.  I  am  going  to  be  married  within  a  week 
to  Mr.  Gaveston.  He  is  on  ahead  there  somewhere 
— asking  mother's  consent — but  whether  she  gives 
it  or  not — I  shall  marry  him  just  the  same!  Under 
stand  that  clearly!  I  shall  marry  him — within  a 
week — and  then  I  hope  I  may  never  see  or  hear  of 
you  again!  As  for  you — "  She  turned  upon  me, 
but  he  said  "  Stop!"  in  such  a  tone  that  she  stopped, 
panting.  They  were  both  deathly  pale,  but  he  was 
as  quiet  and  tense  as  Shafter  Blakeney  had  been 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

in  a  similar  scene,  and  his  words  seemed  to  cut  the 
air,  so  incisive  were  they. 

"  You  may  say  anything  you  like  to  me  or  about 
me,  and  it  won't  make  any  difference — but  you 
shall  not  say  things  about  Mrs.  Pomeroy.  She's  the 
best  friend  you  ever  had  and  you  know  it.  As  for 
Meta  Carstairs — " 

"I  won't  listen!"  she  cried,  and  would  have 
started  on,  but  I  stood  in  her  way,  now  thoroughly 
aroused  myself. 

"You  will  listen!"  said  I.  "It  is  no  part  of  my 
business  to  urge  you  to  marry  Perry  Waite  or  any 
other  man,  but  it  is  my  business  to  see  that  you  be 
have  yourself  as  a  woman  should.  Here  is  a  man 
who  loves  you,  and  who  has  travelled  some  thou 
sands  of  miles  to  tell  you  so  and  to  prevent  your 
making  a  fool  of  yourself.  Now  you  will  listen  to 
him — and  then  you  can  marry  whom  you  please. 
For  my  part,  I  can't  see  why  either  of  them  want 
to  marry  you.  I'd  as  soon  live  with  a  wildcat!" 

It  was  the  first  sharp  word  I  had  ever  spoken  to 
her,  and  for  a  moment  she  stared  at  me  as  if  I  had 
struck  her.  Then  the  lines  of  her  face  wavered — 
and  the  storm  broke.  She  leaned  against  the  aque 
duct,  shaken  by  sobs,  and  I  looked  at  Perry  to  see 
whether  he  knew  the  next  move.  He  did. 

So  I  turned  my  back  on  them  and  walked  along 
the  winding  path  after  Helen  and  Gaveston,  inex 
pressibly  torn  and  shaken,  and  trying  to  steady  and 
calm  and  cool  myself  in  its  beauty.  It  did  not  fail 
me.  At  every  turn  there  were  new  shades  of  green 
against  the  soft  red  masonry  of  the  aqueduct,  new 

332 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

depth  to  the  shadows  under  its  little  arches,  new 
curves  in  its  beautiful  lines,  new  lights  on  the  hills, 
and  little  by  little  I  perceived  these  things  and  they 
soothed,  me. 

I  walked  under  the  spreading  fronds  of  many  a 
tree  fern,  and  once  I  came  upon  a  great,  heart-shaped 
leaf,  palpitating  all  by  itself  where  everything  else 
was  still — a  passionate  voice  in  the  surrounding 
peace.  There  were  soft  bird-notes  and  fluttering 
butterflies,  here  water  gushing  out  of  a  rock  and 
shimmering  down  over  strange,  red,  coral-like  roots 
of  some  plant  I  couldn't  trace,  there  the  sharp 
finger  of  the  Corcovado  piercing  the  blue,  ahead 
the  pale  trunk  of  some  tall,  tall  tree  with  patches 
of  rose-colored  "  lichens  on  its  delicate  gray  bark, 
and  huge  orchids  perched  in  its  branches  far  over 
head. 

There  were  waterfalls,  and  quaint  little  reservoirs, 
and  long  stretches  of  green  moss,  and  a  soft,  damp, 
tropical  smell — and  in  my  heart  a  joy  that  fairly 
ached!  I  gave  myself  up  to  it,  for  I  trusted  Perry 
Waite,  and  I  knew  that  down  under  all  her  thorns 
and  briers  and  hot,  foolish  pride,  the  child  loved 
him  with  a  strength  that  would  one  day,  with  his 
help,  make  a  woman  of  her.  And  if  in  my  heart 
there  was — and  is — an  ache  all  my  own,  that  is 
only  part  joy,  I  would  cling  to  the  pain  rather  than 
relinquish  one  breath  of  this  new,  solemn,  still 
rapture  that  possesses  me. 

And  presently  along  came  Helen  and  Gaveston, 
on  their  way  back,  apparently  on  the  best  of  terms. 
He  was  exercising  all  his  charm,  and  she  was  re- 

333 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

spending   with  her  usual  readiness.     Poor,   sweet, 
injudicious  Helen! 

She  caught  sight  of  me  first,  and  called:  "Where 
is  Berenice?"  and  when  I  replied  that  I  had  left 
her  behind  somewhere  with  Perry  Waite,  she  gave 
me  one  look — "a  family  look" — and  hastened  her 
steps  almost  to  a  run,  much  to  the  Englishman's 
bewilderment. 

"Who's  this — what's-his-name  chap?"  he  asked 
me. 

"Perry  Waite?  He's  just  an  old  friend  of  Miss 
Ames'.  You  never  heard  of  him,  did  you?  But 
then,  you  haven't  known  her  very  long,"  I  blandly 
observed,  whereat  he  gave  me  a  family  look,  also, 
and  improved  upon  Helen's  pace,  and  between  the 
two  of  them,  I  arrived  at  the  little  Paineiras  hotel 
rather  breathless. 

There  we  found  the  babes  in  the  wood,  sitting  on 
a  bench  under  a  tree,  and  one  glance  at  them  told 
the  story.  Helen  blanched,  and  Gaveston  glowered, 
and  Perry  came  forward,  saying:  "How  do  you  do, 
Mrs.  Ames?"  but  he  didn't  try  to  make  her  shake 
hands  with  him. 

She  glared — I  wouldn't  have  believed  Helen  could 
accomplish  a  glare,  but  she  did — at  Berenice,  and 
Berenice  blushed  and  beamed  back.  Then  she  glared 
at  me,  and  I  couldn't  look  unhappy,  though  I  trust 
I  preserved  a  becoming  gravity. 

Gaveston  said,  rather  stiffly,  to  Berenice:  "I 
thought  I  was  promised  the  pleasure  of  the  walk 
back,  Miss  Ames,"  and  the  child  did  have  the 
grace  to  look  a  little  embarrassed. 

334 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

"But  you  see,"  she  parried,  "I  didn't  go.  One 
can't  walk  back  when  one  hasn't  walked  forward, 
can  one?  And  just  as  we  were  starting  Mr.  Waite 
came  along — oh,  Mr.  Gaveston,  this  is  Mr.  Waite — 
and  so  I — I  stopped.  I  didn't  go  any  farther." 
Which  is  precisely  what  happened. 

Mercifully  the  train  came  along  then,  and  we  re 
turned  to  our  hotel,  a  very  silent  party. 

Perry  came  with  us,  and  we  all — except  Gaveston 
— betook  ourselves  to  Helen's  chalet,  where  we  had 
another  scene,  with  Helen  as  the  moving  cause. 
$he  reproached  Berenice,  and  she  reproached  Perry, 
but  upon  my  devoted  head  she  emptied  the  vials 
of  her  wrath.  To  be  sure,  it  was  Helen's  variety 
of  wrath,  the  sugary,  plaintive  kind,  which  is  the 
worst  of  any,  because  it  makes  you  look  such  a 
brute  if  you  fight  back.  And  in  the  midst  of  it,  in 
came  Uncle  Beverley,  with  a  "Hey,  hey,  what's  all 
this?" 

Helen  told  him  what  it  was.  And  when  he 
turned  upon  Perry  for  an  underhanded,  unprin 
cipled  young  scamp,  Berenice  stood  up,  her  color 
high  and  her  eyes  like  stars — a  radiant,  splendid 
thing  she  was! — and  told  them  the  story  of  her 
love,  from  Perry's  refusal  to  elope  with  her  to  the 
cable  message  of  the  morning,  while  Helen  laid  her 
head  upon  her  arms  and  wept,  moaning:  "Oh,  what 
will  Dick  say?"  and  Beverley  ejaculated  "Bless  my 
my  soul!"  every  third  sentence. 

Berenice  told  them  of  my  knowledge  of  all  this, 
and  of  my  effort  to  keep  her  true  to  herself  without 
betraying  either  her  confidence  or  theirs,  and  when 
"  335 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

she  had  finished,  Perry  Waite  took  her  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  her  before  us  all — and  all  Beverley  said 
was,  "Bless  my  soul!" 

Then  Helen  lifted  up  her  voice  again.  I  had  done 
those  things  that  I  ought  not  to  have  done,  and  I 
had  left  undone  those  things  that  I  ought  to  have 
done,  and  there  was  no  good  in  me — and  what  would 
Dick  say  ?  , 

Upon  that,  Beverley  took  the  floor  and  informed 
her  that  he 'didn't  care  what  Dick  said!  He  told 
her  that  having  heard  Berenice's  story  and  know 
ing  her  daughter,  she  and  all  the  rest  of  the  family 
ought  to  thank  me  on  their  knees — as  he  did.  That 
she  had  wronged  me  and  misunderstood  me  and 
hurt  me — as  he  had.  That  I  was  this  and  that  and 
the  other — which  Heaven  knows  I  am  not  and  never 
was!  Then  he  took  my  hand  and  said  that  now  he 
understood  fully,  for  the  first  time,  how  difficult  my 
position  had  been  and  how  much  harder  he  had 
made  it,  and  asked  me  to  forgive  him  for — oh,  for 
a  lot  more  things  than  he  ever  did — and  that  is 
where  /  cried! 

But  Helen  couldn't  see  it  that  way  at  all.  I  knew 
that  Dick  had  declared  that  Berenice  should  never 
marry  Perry  Waite;  I  knew  that  Dick  had  sent 
Berenice  down  here — and  me  with  her — solely  to 
get  her  away  from  Perry  Waite;  and  then,  at  the 
first  opportunity,  I  had  calmly  walked  off  and  left 
her  alone  with  Perry  Waite!  But  I  had  got  her  down 
here  first,  and  now  Dick  would  say  it  was  all  her 
fault,  when  really  it  was  all  Anne's — every  bit 
Anne's!  Then  there  was  that  nice  Mr.  Gaveston — ! 

336 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

That  nice  Mr.  Gaveston,  by- the- way,  again  proves 
to  be  a  bad  loser,  and  made  himself  so  extremely 
unpleasant  this  morning  when  Berenice  refused  him 
that  she  also  refused  to  continue  the  conversation 
and  left  the  room. 

And  there  we  are!  Helen's  manner  toward  me 
to-day  is  best  described  as  polite.  She  is  extremely 
polite,  but  every  line  and  tone  and  shadow  of  her 
indicate  that  I  am  a  miserable  sinner,  and  that 
she  will  have  to  reap  where  I  have  sowed — and  that 
she  intends  to  do  it  with  Christian  fortitude. 

Therefore  do  I  remember  with  profound  gratitude 
the  girl  at  boarding-school  who  taught  me  that  long, 
wicked  word.  And  therefore,  though  "  I  know  it  is 
a  sin  for  me  to  sit  and  grin"  at  Helen,  I  do  it  now 
and  then.  But  just  the  same,  it  hurts,  Marion. 
You  know  how  I  have  felt  about  Helen,  ever  since 
we  were  all  at  school  together — as  if  she  must  be 
shielded  and  petted  and  taken  care  of,  and  never 
subjected  to  the  hard  things  of  life,  And  now,  when 
I  have  done  my  best —  Perhaps  my  best  was  bad, 
but  at  any  rate,  it  was  "the  best  I  had,"  and  it 
does  hurt  that  Helen  should  not  even  recognize  that! 

So  I  am  going  away  on  the  first  possible  steamer 
— but  not  wholly  uncomforted.  Berenice  and  Perry 
are  worth  much  sacrifice,  even  the  sacrifice  of  a 
friendship — particularly  when,  as  in  this  case,  it 
wasn't  a  real  friendship  at  all,  but  only  a  school 
girl  illusion  done  up  in  cotton  and  carefully  pre 
served  through  the  years.  I  realize  perfectly  that 
had  it  been  genuine,  it  would  not  have  snapped 
under  a  strain  like  this. 

337 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Meanwhile,  being  creatures  of  convention  and 
social  habits,  we  shall  keep  our  engagements,  in 
cluding  sundry  dinners  and  breakfasts  and  things — 
but  how  I  dread  it  all!  I  should  be  so  glad  to  sit 
up  here  on  my  mountain  side  in  quiet,  to  look  and 
look — and  think  a  little — before  I  go.  But  that  is 
not  the  way  I  live. 

Now,  having  beaten  my  hitching-post  resound 
ingly  for  a  matter  of  two  hours,  I  think  the  danger 
of  an  explosion  is  past,  and  I  will  proceed  to  dress 
for  dinner.  I  shall  probably  not  write  from  here 
again,  as  the  story  is  told. 

I'll  send  you  a  line  from  London  telling  you  when 
to  expect  me,  and  after  my  visit  with  you,  I  think 
I  shall  settle  down  in  New  York  and  develop  some 
deep  and  abiding  interest  to  fill  the  long  hours  of 
the  afternoon. 

Don't  imagine  for  a  moment  that  I  am  unhappy, 
Marion.  I  am  very  far  from  that.  But  I  know 
myself,  at  last.  Many  things  I  have  never  quite 
understood  are  explained  to  me,  and  the  values  of 
my  life  are  fully  and  finally  established. 


Rio,  June  28th. 

As  it  turns  out,  the  story  was  not  quite  finished 
after  all.  The  rest  of  it  is  that  this  is  a  small  world — 
which  you  may  think  is  a  plagiarism  or  a  brom- 
idiom,  but  it  isn't.  It  is  an  original  discovery  of 
my  own,  made  last  night. 

We  went  to  the  Garlands'  to  dinner,  and  I  learned, 
338 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

just  by  chance,  that  they  know  friends  of  mine  in 
Cleveland.  It  is  odd  that,  though  South  America 
used  to  seem  so  remote  and  utterly  out  of  touch, 
in  every  place  we  have  been  we  have  met  people 
with  whom  some  of  us  had  acquaintances  in  com 
mon. 

We  said  something  of  the  sort  at  dinner,  and  in 
the  same  connection  some  of  the  men  were  rejoicing 
that  as  facilities  for  communication  with  the  rest 
of  the  world  increase,  this  continent  is  becoming 
less  and  less  available  as  a  haven  for  the  criminals 
of  all  countries. 

A  man  named  Moberly,  who  is  an  engineer,  widely 
travelled  and  interesting  in  every  way,  said  that 
this  was  undoubtedly  true,  but  just  the  same,  he 
had  met  a  man  that  day  whom  he  would  wager  any 
amount  was  up  to  mischief. 

"The  last  time  I  saw  him  was  in  Mexico,"  said 
he,  "and  he  did  a  dozen  of  us  to  the  tune  of  from 
fifty  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  apiece.  He  got 
into  me  for  a  hundred."  Somebody  asked  how  it 
was  managed,  and  Moberly  laughed.  "  Oh,  he  came 
up  to  Mexico  in  the  wake  of  a  rich  young  widow 
from  St.  Louis,  and  was  so  in  love  with  her  that  he 
did  his  best  to  persuade  her  to  marry  him  then  and 
there.  She'd  have  done  it,  too,  but  there's  a  whole 
lot  of  red  tape  about  the  marriage  laws  of  Mexico — 
fortunately  for  her.  She  told  me  herself,  though, 
that  they  were  to  be  married  as  soon  as  she  got 
home.  In  the  mean  time,  her  big  brother  stumbled 
upon  somebody  who  had  known  the  man  in  Aus 
tralia,  and  came  hot-foot  to  Mexico  to  stop  pro- 

339 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

ceedings.     The  result  was  that  one  Saturday  night, 
Gaveston — " 

"Who?"  four  of  us  exclaimed  in  a  breath.  Mr. 
Moberly  laid  down  his  fork  and  looked  around  the 
table. 

"Gaveston.  Cecil  Osmund  Lester — or  was  it 
Leslie? — Gaveston.  Anybody  know  him?"  Mr. 
Ames  said  that  we  had  met  him  on  the  west  coast, 
and  that  he  was  now  at  our  hotel.  "Ah?"  said  Mr. 
Moberly.  "  Then  look  out  for  him.  He's  a  smooth 
proposition.  But  he's  an  attractive  scalawag,  isn't 
he?"  We  said  he  was,  and  somebody  demanded 
the  rest  of  the  story,  so  he  continued: 

"Oh,  well,  it  doesn't  amount  to  much.  That 
Saturday  afternoon,  after  all  the  banks  had  closed, 
Gaveston  discovered  that  he  wanted  to  run  down 
to  Orizaba  with  some  friends  over  Sunday,  and  he 
asked  me  to  cash  his  check  for  a  hundred  dollars — 
gold,  mind  you — and  like  a  fool,  I  did  it.  Altogether, 
he  cleaned  up  about  twelve  hundred  dollars,  and  he 
got  away  with  it,  too.  We  never  found  the  slight 
est  trace  of  him,  though  of  course,  nobody's  in 
dividual  loss  was  large  enough  to  warrant  any  very 
long  chase — and  I've  never  seen  or  heard  of  him 
since  until  I  met  him  down  here  at  the  club  to-day." 

"What  did  you  do?"  half  a  dozen  people  asked. 

"I  didn't  do  anything.  He  did  it.  He  looked 
at  me  hard  to  make  sure  he  wasn't  mistaken — and 
then  he  turned  green  and  left.  I'd  like  to  know 
what  he's  up  to  here!  So  he's  out  at  your  hotel,  is 
he?  I  think  I'll  call  on  him — if  he's  there  to 
morrow." 

340 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

But  he  wasn't.  Mr.  Ames  made  inquiries  the 
first  thing  this  morning,  and  learned  that  Mr.  Gaves- 
ton  had  departed  last  night,  with  all  his  luggage, 
leaving  no  address.  He  said  he  was  going  to  visit 
a  friend  in  the  country  and  would  return  later.  I 
fancy  that  is  the  end  of  the  gentleman,  as  far  as  we 
are  concerned. 

When  we  got  home,  Helen  came  into  my  chalet, 
very  repentant  after  all  this,  and  begged  me  to  for 
get  all  the  things  she  said  the  other  night  and  to 
go  back  to  the  dear  old  relation.  Well — of  course, 
one  can  never  do  that,  quite.  Something  broke 
when  Helen  fell  upon  me  in  that  way,  and  all  the 
years  ahead  can  never  mend  it,  I'm  afraid. 

But  she  was  so  distressed  and  so  urgent  that  I 
finally  promised  to  stay  over  and  sail  with  them  on 
the  eighth.  There  seemed  no  imperative  reason 
why  I  shouldn't.  I  think  Berenice's  pleading  really 
decided  me,  though.  She  turns  to  me  very  warmly 
now,  as  does  Perry  also,  and  I  find  myself  leaning 
on  their  affection.  Perhaps  I  have  gained  in  them 
what  I  have  lost  in  Helen,  and  theirs  are  loyal  souls. 
But— 

Isn't  it  odd  that  an  illusion — a  thing  without  sub 
stance — can  explode  and  leave  such  a  hole  in  one's  life ! 

Berenice  and  Perry  are  to  be  married  in  October. 
Helen  is  becoming  reconciled  to  that,  too,  especially 
since  Uncle  Beverley  has  undertaken  to  pacify  Dick, 
and  she  told  me  this  morning,  with  something  very 
like  pride,  that  Mr.  Garland  said  young  Waite  was 
the  most  promising  youngster  he  had  met  in  years. 
Poor  Helen! 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

So — this  is  really  the  end  of  this  wonderful  South 
American  trip,  that  has  affected,  in  one  way  or  an 
other,  so  many  lives.  Some  of  them  will  swing 
back  into  the  old  current — Mr.  Ames  among  them, 
I  hope — but  for  some  of  us  life  will  never  be  quite 
the  same  again. 

Berenice  and  Perry  are  more  closely  united  than 
they  might  ever  have  been  but  for  this  pilgrimage 
designed  to  separate  them,  and  to  me  it  has  been 
hardly  less  vital,  so  much  have  I  gained — and  so 
much  lost. 

"Fades  the  rose;  the  year  grows  old; 
The  tale  is  told;  youth  doth  depart; 
Only  stays  the  heart." 

I  have  been  sitting  out  on  my  little  veranda, 
watching  the  sunset  lights  and  trying  to  fix  in  my 
memory  every  exquisite  tint  and  line  of  it.  The 
bay  was  deepest  lapis  lazuli,  then  turquoise,  then 
pale,  clouded  sapphire.  The  hills  softened  and 
darkened,  and  blending  shadows  crept  over  them. 
A  pink  scarf  of  cloud  lay  across  the  blue  above  the 
Corcovado,  and  I  looked  and  looked  and  looked. 

Presently  two  big,  foolish  tears  rolled  down  be 
side  my  nose  and  plashed  on  my  letter  here,  because 
it  is  all  so  lovely,  and  I  must  leave  it  so  soon  and 
never  see  it  again — which  explains,  madame,  the 
blots  your  sharp  eyes  discovered  as  soon  as  you 
turned  the  page. 

It  also  explains  why  I  shall  immediately  proceed 
to  go  in  and  darn  stockings.  Vain  sentimental 
regret  of  that  sort  is  demoralizing  and  more  to  be 

342 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

avoided    than    strong    drink,    and    emotional    de 
bauchery  is  peculiarly  a  woman's  vice. 
*  *  * 

For  some  reason  this  didn't  get  finished  the  other 
day,  and  now —  My  dear,  my  dear,  the  heavens 
didn't  fall  after  all!  They  just  opened  to  let  me  in! 
The  little  stars  are  the  radiant  dust  under  my  feet, 
and  all  the  planets  have  been  strung  together  and 
given  to  me  to  wear  in  my  hair!  It  doesn't  sound  as 
if  it  could  be  true,  does  it?  That's  what  fright 
ens  me. 

It  is  Ned,  dear.  It  has  always  been  Ned.  That 
was  the  discovery  I  made  the  day  we  motored 
through  the  hills — and  it  had  never  occurred  to 
me  before  that  I  was  in  love  with  him! 

To  me  he  has  always  been  the  perfect  friend,  and 
I  made  a  little  place  for  him  in  my  heart,  away  from 
all  my  other  friends,  and  shut  him  in  all  by  him 
self.  And  I  never  expected  or  wanted  anybody 
else  to  be  to  me  what  he  was,  for  he  was  just — Ned. 

Then  I  made  an  ideal  love  and  an  ideal  lover  in 
my  mind,  and  wondered  that  nobody  ever  came  to 
fit  it — but  it  never  occurred  to  me  to  try  it  on  Ned, 
because  it  never  occurred  to  me  to  think  of  Ned 
as  a  lover.  I  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  my 
splendid  Orion's  coming  down  out  of  the  sky  to 
woo  me! 

And  all  the  time,  I  was  the  woman  who  put  that 
pain  in  his  heart  and  that  deep  turbulence  in  his 
eyes. 

He  thought  I  knew  it.  Why  do  men  always 
think  we  read  them  as  if  they  were  glass,  when  they 

343 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

are  really  so  much  more  reserved  and  inscrutable 
than  we  are?  He  says  that  twice — once  before  I 
was  engaged  to  Clark,  and  once  after  he  died — he 
tried  to  ask  me  to  marry  him,  and  that  each  time 
I  put  him  off  so  kindly  but  so  firmly  that  he  was 
sure  I  knew  all  about  it,  and  was  trying  to  save 
him  and  myself  pain.  And  I  never  once  dreamed 
that  he  cared! 

When  we  stumbled  upon  each  other  in  Santiago 
that  day,  he  thought  perhaps  the  gods  had  relented, 
and  all  day  he  dreamed  dreams  and  saw  visions,  he 
says — and  then  he  came  to  dinner  that  night,  found 
a  lot  of  other  people  there — and  discovered  Mr. 
Ames.  He  thought  I  avoided  quiet  moments  with 
him  in  order  to  talk  to  Mr.  Ames. 

Then  one  day  I  made  occasion  to  tell  him  a  lot 
about  Beverley's  hidden  virtues,  and  he  thought — 
you  see  what  he  thought! 

He  saw,  too,  what  the  Bandersnatch  was  after, 
and  that  it  made  me  unhappy  to  have  her  alone  with 
Mr.  Ames — and  of  course  there  could  be  but  one 
explanation  of  that!  He  could  endure  anything 
better  than  seeing  me  unhappy,  he  says,  so  he  de 
voted  himself  to  her  whenever  Mr.  Ames  was  about 
and  spoiled  many  a  tete-a-tete  for  her.  But  he 
also  kept  away  from  me,  partly  because  he  didn't 
particularly  enjoy  seeing  me  with  Mr.  Ames,  and 
partly  because  he  didn't  want  me  to  see  how  it 
hurt — and  I  nearly  broke  my  heart  because  I 
thought  he  no  longer  liked  me!  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  such  a  web  of  cross-purposes? 

But  we  are  through  with  that  sort  of  thing  now. 

344 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

We  have  found  not  only  ourselves  but  each  other — 
and  it  isn't  afternoon  at  all !  Day  has  just  dawned ! 
Life  has  just  begun!  Joy  is  new-born!  I  didn't 
know  that  anybody  but  angels  could  be  so  happy! 

Just  the  same,  it  is  late  enough  so  we  can't  afford 
to  lose  one  moment  of  what  remains  to  us — and  that 
is  the  reason,  Marion  dear,  that  I  am  not  coming 
home.  I  am  going  to  stay  here  with  Ned. 

At  first,  we  planned  to  be  married  next  year,  as 
soon  as  he  could  arrange  to  come  for  me — but  so 
much  can  happen  in  a  few  months,  and  I  have  no 
family  and  no  home  to  go  to,  and  life  looks  such 
a  wee,  short  span  at  best  now,  that  we  finally  de 
cided  not  to  wait.  So  we  are  going  to  be  married 
on  the  seventh,  the  day  before  the  Ameses  sail. 

The  one  little  ache  under  all  this  joy  is  the  memory 
of  the  pain  I  have  given  Mr.  Ames,  but  even  for 
that  I  have  some  solace. 

Since  she  has  recognized  that  her  opportunity  of 
nabbing  him  was  past,  and  that  Helen's  hostility 
was  unconquerable,  the  Bandersnatch  has  been 
less  careful  to  keep  up  appearances.  Last  night 
she  had  a  man  here  dining  with  her,  a  business 
friend,  she  said,  and  they  drank — well,  rather  more 
champagne  than  is  customary.  Later,  Beverley 
and  Helen,  strolling  on  the  terrace,  came  upon  them 
in  a  little  arbor,  both  smoking. 

Now,  there  may  be  two  opinions  in  the  world 
about  the  propriety  of  a  woman's  smoking,  but 
there  is  only  one  in  the  Ames  family.  Uncle  Bever 
ley  puffed  up,  quite  in  the  old  way,  when  Helen  told 
me  about  it  in  his  presence,  and  said  that  while  Mrs. 

345 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

Rankin  was  a  very  energetic  and  courageous  little 
woman — a  very  worthy  little  woman  in  many  ways, 
it  was  perfectly  obvious  to  the  most  casual  ob 
server  that  she  was  not  quite — er — in  fact,  that  she 
was  not  at  all — er — of  what  might  be  called — ah— 
our  world. 

And  my  dear,  he  meant  it !  If  any  one  should  tell 
him  now  that  three  months  ago  he  was  on  the  point 
of  asking  that  woman  to  marry  him,  he  would  deny 
it  with  deep  indignation.  So,  when  he  gets  home, 
while  I  think  he  will  remember  that  he  did  ask  me 
to  marry  him,  I  hope — in  fact,  I  am  pretty  sure 
now — that  down  in  his  heart,  he  will  be  very  glad 
I  didn't  do  it. 

But  I  wish  I  had  never  hurt  him  at  all.  He  has 
been  so  careful  not  to  cloud  my  happiness  by  any 
reminder  of  it.  And  if  it  hadn't  been  for  him,  I 
might  never  have  had  any  real  happiness. 

The  day  after  the  Garland  dinner,  he  unexpected 
ly  brought  Ned  out  here  to  breakfast,  and  later  we 
all  went  for  a  walk. 

We  were  strolling  rather  aimlessly  along  the 
green-shadowed  road,  and  Mr.  Ames  was  riding  his 
hobby  full  tilt,  with  great  satisfaction  to  himself. 
Ned,  who  is  generally  rather  skilful  in  avoiding  that 
subject,  seemed  preoccupied  on  this  occasion,  and 
let  him  talk  uninterruptedly,  until,  after  confiding 
to  us  his  intention  of  writing  a  monumental  History 
of  the  Civil  War,  Beverley  said: 

"I  tell  you,  Mr.  Barrington,  the  significance  of 
certain  features  of  that  war  has  never  yet  been  fully 
appreciated,  and  I  am  going  to  make  it  the  business 

346 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

of  my  life  to  bring  that  realization  home  to  our 
people,  sir.  It  seems  to  me  very  important  that  it 
should  be  understood.  In  fact,  nothing  in  the 
world  interests  me  so  much." 

" Nothing?"  queried  Ned,  so  sharply  that  I  looked 
at  him  and  wondered  why  the  gaze  he  bent  upon 
Beverley  was  so  savage.  Mr.  Ames  didn't  notice 
it,  however,  and  babbled  on. 

"Nothing,  sir.  It  is  the  one  great  interest  of 
my  life,  and  to  it  I  shall  devote  whatever  time  can 
be  spared  from  my  business  throughout  the  years 
remaining  to  me.  The  Civil  War,  and  the  circum 
stances  leading  to  it — "  etc.  I  didn't  hear  much 
of  what  followed  for  wondering  why  Ned  looked 
black,  and  why  his  eyes,  as  he  glanced  at  me,  were 
stormy  and  full  of  pain. 

Presently  Helen  and  Berenice,  who  were  ahead, 
called  us  to  come  quickly  to  see  some  strange  insect 
or  bird  by  the  roadside,  but  Ned  laid  his  hand  on 
my  arm,  detaining  me,  and  Beverley  hurried  on 
alone. 

"  I  suppose  this  is  a  place  where  angels  wouldn't 
rush  in,"  he  said,  "but  I'm  not  an  angel.  I'm  a 
man.  I'm  an  old  friend  of  yours,  though,  and  per 
haps  that — and  some  other  things — give  me  the 
right  to  ask.  Anne,  are  you  very  sure  you  can  be 
happy  with  a  man  who,  even  now,  places  his  in 
terest  in  a  dead  old  war  above — well,  you  heard 
what  he  said!"  I  suppose  I  must  have  looked  my 
astonishment,  for  he  added,  very  quickly:  "You're 
going  to  marry  him,  aren't  you?" 

I  said — emphatically — that  I  was  not,  and  then 

347 


THE    INVOLUNTARY    CHAPERON 

— that  was  where  heaven  opened  and  swept  me  up. 
And  the  American  Ambassador  missed  the  Petrop- 
olis  boat  that  night,  and  with  it  an  important  din 
ner  engagement — which  seemed  to  cause  him  scan 
dalously  little  concern. 

Do  you  remember  those  lines  in  The  Day  Dream? 

"And  on  her  lover's  arm  she  leant, 

And  round  her  waist  she  felt  it  fold, 
And  far  across  the  hills  they  went, 

In  that  new  world  which  is  the  old; 
Across  the  hills,  and  far  away 

Beyond  their  utmost  purple  rim, 
And  deep  into  the  dying  day 

The  happy  princess  followed  him." 

That's  the  way  you  are  to  think  of  me,  dear,  for 
all  the  rest  of  my  life — as  "the  happy  princess." 

"Beyond  the  night,  across  the  day, 

Through  all  the  world  she  followed  him." 

Marion,  what  have  I  ever  been  or  done  that  hap 
piness  like  this  should  come  to  me  ?  Ned  must  have 
earned  it  for  both  of  us,  for  certainly  I  never  did. 


THE    END 


•oJ^l 


PS3505  A535I59  1909 
Cameron,  Margaret,  1.867- 


1947 


Tne  involuntary  chaperon, 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  260  226    4 
\ 


3  1210  00427  9046 


MJB 


